^ 


IVISON  &  BillNNEY'S  PUBLICATION'S. 


Sdr00l  m\  Salkje  fet  iuob. 


E  IV  O  I.  1  8  II . 

THE  AMEEICAN  DEBATER.    By  James  N.  McElligott,  LL.D 

BARRINGTON'S  PHYSICAL  GEOGRAPHY.    Edited  by  Charles  Burdett     -       . 
BUTLER'S  ANALOGY  OE  RELIGION.     By  Joseph  Butler,  LL.D.    With  an  Intro- 
ductory Es-""  1^^'  ""'•    * '  —=■"•"  " ■•  ---'    ■•"  -  - 

Tli9  S-une  Woi 

McKee,  a. 
COUSIN'S  PSY 

enlarged; 
GRAY'S  CHEM 

the  Science 

lion,  newly 
HITCHCOCK'S 

LL.D.,  Pres 

ogy.    A  ne 

of  the  Scien 
HALLOCK'S  G] 

ILVLLOCK,  A 

HiCKOK's  em; 

ness.  1  vo 
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KIDJ)LE'S  AST 

By  Henry  ] 
McELLTGOTT'S 

of  Orthogra 
McELLIGOTT'3 

struction  in 

NEWMAN'S  R: 
rules  of  styl 
Dissertation 
in  Bowdoin 

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Sir  Isaac  N 
svstem  of  i 
N.  W.  Cnm 

PORTER'S  RHI 
Voice,  with 
lion;  and  a 
High  School 
nary,  Andoi 

PORTER'S  RHI 
choicest  exe 

SMITH'S  NATU 

propriate  Di  t . 

SPENCER'S  ENGLISH  GRAMMAR;  combining  the  Analytical  and  Synthetical  Prin- 
ciples. Illustrated  by  Exercises  for  Grammatical  Analysis ;  witli  numerous  Exam- 
ples of  False  Syntax.    By  George  Spencer,  A.M 


nd 


1  00 

1  00 

62  J- 

1  25 

1  00 

1  25 

50 

1  25 
1  25 


2  50 

C2l 

DO 

75 


SANDERS'    NEW    SERIES    OF    READERS. 

^  By  Charles  W.  Sanders,  A.M.    These  books  are,  in  matter,  engravings  and  typography, 
«>V  entirely  neic.    Simple  in  style,  without  being  puerile— highly  moral  in  tone,  with- 

b»  out  being  dull  or  cynical— carefully  graduated  to  the  kn&im  ivatiis  of  the  Schooli 


^P^^r^-^^^^' 


IVISON-  S  PEINNEY'S  PUBLICATIONS. 


— adapted  to  the  convenience  of  the  teacher,  without  attempting  to  reduce  him  to 
the  condition  of  a  mere  machine — and  withal,  unsurpassed  in  mechanical  execu- 
tion ;  they  are  confidently  offered  to  the  public,  as  superior  to  all  other  worlis  in 
this  department  of  education. 
SANDEES'  NEW  SPELLER,  DEFINEB  AND  ANALYZER;  containing  a  com- 
plete and  thorough  course  of  instruction  in  Orthography  and  Orthcepy,  on  the  prhi- 
ciples  6f  Dr.  Webster ;  in  which,  also,  words  of  all  classes,  simple,  derivative  and 
compound,  are  so  arranged^  compared,  contrasted.,  defined  and  analyzed,  as 
best  to  bring  out  and  inculcate  their  true  meaning  and  application  ;  forming  alto- 
gether a  full  and  progressive  course  of  lessons,  precisely  adapted  to  the  known 
wants  of  pupils  of  al.  grades,  and  answering  the  double  purpose  of  Spelling  Book 
and  Dictionary  in  Schools,    Just  published       ---.---•  15 

SANDERS'  PICTORIAL  PRIMER.    Bound.    (Green  Covers) 12^ 

SANDERS'  NEW  FIRST  READER ;  containing  easy  progressive  lessons  in  Read- 
ing and  Spelling  ..----  121- 

SANDERS'  NEW  SECOND  READER 25 

SANDERS'  NEW  THIRD  READER;  containing  Exercises  in  Articulation  and  In- 
flection, Definitions,  &c. 8S 

SANDERS'  NEW  FOURTH  READER;  embracing  a  comprehensive  System  of  In- 
struction in  the  Principles  of  Elocution,  with  a  choice  collection  of  Reading  Lessons 

in  Prose  and  Poetry C3 

SANDERS' FIFTH  READER;  for  the  more  advanced  classes T5 

SANDER'S  HIGH  SCHOOL  READER 1  00 

SANDERS'  YOUNG  LADIES'  READER;  A  choice  Course  of  Exercises  in  Reading, 
both  in  Prose  and  Poetry;  carefully  adapted  to  the  wants  of  the  female  mind,  and 
so  arranged  as  to  become,  in  the  hands  of  the  teacher,  a  most  effective  Manual  of 

Instruction 100 

SANDERS'  ELOCUTIONARY  CHART;  designed  an  as  accompaniment  to  Sanders' 
Scries  of  Reading  Books,  for  the  use  of  Primary  Schools,  Academies,  Institutes, 
Seminaries,  Colleges,  Ac.  By  C.  W.  Sandehs,  A.M..  and  Prof.  E.  W.  Merrill,  A.M.  8  00 
pW°  This  Chart  is  intended  to  give  a  knowledge  of  the  Elementary  Sounds  of  the 
English  Language;  to  apply  those  Elements  in  Reading ;  to  remedy  defects  in  Ar- 
ticulation, Modulation,  Inflection,  &c. ;  also,  to  give  force,  smoothness  an*  com- 
pass to  the  voice.  It  is  colored  and  varnished,  and  mounted  on  rollers,  being  in 
Bize  six  feet  by  four  feet  and  a  half. 

THOMSON'S    SERIES    OF    ARITHMETICS. 

INTRODUCTORY  TO  DAY  AND  THOMSON'S  SERIES  OF  MATHEMATICS. 

THOMSON'S  ARITHMETICAL  TABLES.    ISmo.    Half  bound       .      -      -      -  m 

THOMSON'S  MENTAL  ARITHMEIIC.    New  edition,  enlarged        ...        -  12^ 

THOMSON'S  ARITHMETICAL  ANALYSIS;  or,  Higher  Mental  Arithmetic  25 
THOMSON'S  RUDIMENTS  OF  ARITHMETIC ;  or,  Slate  and  Black  Board 

Exercises isi 

THOMSON'S  PRACTICAL  ARITHMETIC;  uniting  the  Inductive  with  the  Syn- 
thetic modes  of  Instruction £S 

j^°  This  revised,  improved  and  enlarged  edition  contains  all  the  subjects  requisite 

to  a  thorough  business  and  professional  education. 
THOMSON'S  KEY  TO  PRACTICAL  ARITHMETIC.    For  teachers  only,  embracing 

answers,  methods  of  solution,  &c. SS 

THOMSON'S  HIGHER  ARITHMETIC;    combining  the  Analytical  and  Synthetic 

modes  of  Instruction  .--..--- 75 

THOMSON'S  KEY  TO  THE  HIGHER  ARITHMETIC ^0 

1,  THOMSON  &  DAY'S  TRIGONOMETRY ;  being  a  Treatise  on  Plane  Trigonometry, 

and  the  Mensuration  of  Ilights  and  Distances.    To  which  is  prefixed  a  summary 

view  of  the  Nature  and  Use  of  Logarithms.    Adapted  to  the  method  of  instruction 

in  Schools  and  Academies.    By  Jeremiah  Day,  D.D.,  LL.D.,  of  Yale  College  -        -        1  00 
THOMSON  &  DAY'S  SURVEYING.    Elements  of  Surveying.    Adapted  both  to  the 
'^  wants  of  the  learner  and  the  Practical  Surveyor.    (/»  Press.)       .... 


EDUCATION  DEP^ 


PREFACE. 


"  As  in  life,  so  in  one's  studies, the  most  beautiful  and  the  most 
humane  thing  is,  I  think,  so  to  blend  the  grave  and  the  gay,  that 
the  one  may  not  settle  down  into  melancholy,  nor  the  other 
degenerate  into  levity."  This  observation,  which  is  from  the 
younger  Pliny,  one  of  the  most  agreeable  writers  of  antiquity,  and 
which,  in  other  words  by  other  authors,  has  often  been  made,  in- 
dicates the  principle,  so  far  as  style  is  concerned,  on  which  the 
whole  series  of  Sanders'  Reading  Books,  from  first  to  last,  has 
been  designed  to  be  constructed. 

In  none  of  the  series,  however,  has  the  application  of  this  prin- 
ciple been  more  studiously  observed,  since  in  none  has  it  appeared 
more  decidedly  appropriate,  than  in  the  present  volume.  In  the 
selection  of  the  matter,  after  the  first  and  highest  duty,  which  was 
to  secure  in  each  piece  the  best  possible  moral  tendency,  that  which 
came  next  in  the  order  of  importance,  was  to  awaken  and  prolong 
attention  by  a  judicious  combination  of  all  varieties  of  style,  sub- 
ject, and  diction. 

But,  though  the  primary  object  of  this,  as  of  every  similar  work, 
is  to  furnish  a  suitable  series  of  exercises  in  the  art  of  reading,  and 
though,  for  the  better  accomplishment  of  that  purpose,  composi- 
tions, in  which  gravity  and  gayety  are  duly  mingled,  have  been 
carefully  sought,  while  direct  moral  instructions  are  frequently 
enforced,  the  book  will  be  found,  beside  all  this,  to  abound  every 
where  in  those  incidental  and  collateral  teachings,  which  are  all  the 
more  striking,  because  unexpected,  and  all  the  more  impressive, 
because  connected  with  particular  characters  and  circumstances. 

To  secure  pieces,  accordingly,  in  which  noble  sentiments,  ex- 
pressed in  elegant  language,  fall,  as  it  were,  by  the  way-side,  and 
acquire  extraordinary  interest  from  extraordinary  circumstances, 
has  been  the  most  difficult  task  in  the  preparation  of  this  Young 
Ladies'  Reader.  It  has  cost  a  deal  of  time  and  a  deal  of  thought. 
For  what,  in  some  general  sense,  might  be  considered  an  admira- 


541128 


IV  PREFACE. 

ble  composition,  -might,  when  regarded  as  an  educational  agent,  be 
found,  in  some  particulars,  perchance  in  every  important  particu- 
lar, utterly  inappropriate.  With  what  success  the  author  has 
executed  this  part  of  his  design,  is  left  to  the  judgment  of  those 
experienced  in  the  business  of  education. 

In  that  part  of  the  work  devoted  to  a  formal  course  of  instruc- 
tion in  the  principles  of  Rhetorical  Reading,  will  be  found,  it  is 
believed,  whatever  aid  written  rules  can  give,  on  a  subject  like 
this.  Much,  however,  as  is  unfversally  confessed,  must,  after  all, 
be  left  to  the  voice,  the  taste,  and  the  manner  of  the  living  in- 
structor. 

In  explanatory  notes,  sometimes  at  the  head  of  an  exercise, 
sometimes  at  the  bottom  of  the  page,  the  pupil  will  often  find 
things  explained,  which  are  necessary  to  be  known,  in  order  to  a 
full  understanding  of  what  is  required  to  be  read.  This  feature  of 
the  work  is  simply  an  application,  so  far  as  seemed  desirable,  of 
the  author's  well-known  plan  of  explanation,  adopted  in  the  other 
members  of  the  series. 

If  these  few  prefatory  words  convey  some  general  idea  of  the 
plan  and  purpose  of  the  work,  their  object  is  sufficiently  accom- 
plished. A  more  thorough  acquaintance  with  the  nature  of  its 
claims  to  usefulness,  as  a  text-book,  can  be  derived  only  from  a 
careful  examination  of  its  contents,  and  a  fair  trial  in  the  school- 
room. That  it  will  bear  both  these  tests,  is  the  cherished  hope  of 
the  author — a  hope  founded  upon-  the  experience  of  many  years 
■in  the  actual  business  of  teaching,  many  interchanges  of  thought 
with  the  most  eminent  educators,  added  to  a  wide,  varied,  and 
careful  observation  in  all  classes  of  schools. 
*  Tliat  it  may,  therefore,  serve  to  aid  in  developing  and  training 

the  powers  of  the  voice, — in  securing  the  charms  of  a  graceful 
and  eflfcctive  delivery, — in  instilling  noble  and  elevated  senti- 
ments,— in  imparting  a  taste  for  those  refined  pleasures  that  grow 
•^  out  of  a  just  appreciation  of  what  is  sublime  and  beautiful  in 
thought,  chaste  and  elegant  in  expression, — that  it  may,  in  fine, 
prove  a  worthy  auxiliary  in  that  sort  of  educational  discipline 
that  makes  the  true  lady,  is  the  confident  expectation  with 
which  it  is  submitted  to  those,  for  whose  use  it  has  been  especially 
prepared. 

New  York,  April,  1855. 


CONTENT  S. 


PART  FIRST. 

ELOCUTION. 

Section  I.  —Articulation 11 

Elementary  Sounds  of  the  Letters 12 

Substitutes  for  the  Yowel  Elements 13 

Substitutes  for  the  Consonant  Elements 13 

Errors  in  Articulation 14 

Combinations  of  Consonants 15 

Examples  to  illustrate  Indistinct  Articulation 16 

Miscellaneous  Examples It 

Section  II. — Accent  and  Emphasis 18 

Examples  of  Primary  and  Secondary  Accent 19 

Examples  of  Intensive  Emphasis 20 

Examples  of  Absolute  Emphasis 21 

Examples  of  Antithetic  Emphasis 22 

Section  III. — Inflections 23 

Monotone 24 

Eising  and  FalUng  Inflections 25 

Kules  for  the  use  of  Inflections 26 

The  Circumflex 32 

Section  IY. — Modulation 33 

Pitch  of  Voice 34 

Quantity 36 

Rules  for  Quantity 31 

Quality 38 

Rules  for  Quality 38 

Notation  in  Modulation 40 

Examples  for  Exercise  in  Modulation 40 

Section  Y.— The  Rhetorical  Pause 48 


CONTENTS 


PART    SECOND. 
EXERCISES  Ii\  RHETORICAL  READING. 

XXEBOIBK  I  AOl 

1.  The  Sense  of  Beauty William  EUery  Channing,  45 

2.  The  Spirit  of  Beauty Rufm  Daives,    4Y 

3.  Sabinus  and  OUnda. Oliver  Goldsmith,  48 

4.  The  Proper  Education  for  Females. Hannah  More,  52 

5.  I  Love  to  Live,  and  I  Live  to  Love .*....  55 

6.  Life  is  Sweet 57 

*I.  Common  People T.S.Arthur,  59 

8.  The  Seen  and  the  Unseen Ephraim  Peabody,  62 

9.  No  Concealment L.  H.  Sigourney,  61 

10.  The  Two  Weavers Hannah  More^  68 

11.  Beauty  of  the  Morning Hervey,     70 

12.  The  True  Dignity  of  Labor William  Howitt,    72 

13.  The  Laborer WiUiam  D.  Gallagher,  77 

14.  Action  always  Healthful Cowper,  78 

15.  An  Eastern  Apologue 81 

16.  Live  not  to  Yourself Rev.  John  Todd,  83 

17.  The  Wants  of  Man John  Quincy  Adams,  85 

18.  The  Suliote  Mother Mrs.  Hemans,  88 

19.  The  Valleys  of  Lebanon Lamartine,  90 

20.  Ruins  of  Copan  and  Palenque John  L.  Stephens,  92 

21.  The  Old  Clock  on  the  Stairs Henry  W.  Longfellow,  95 

22.  Forgive  and  Forget *. M.  Farquhar  Tupper,  97 

23.  Bitter  Words 99 

24    Flowers Henry  Ward  Beecher,  1 00 

25.  Domestic  Life Vicesimus  Knox,  1 04 

26.  Scene  from  WiUiam  Tell. James  Sheridan  Knowles,  107 

27.  The  Indian  Lament Henry  R.  Schoolcraft,  111 

28.  Uncle  Abel  and  Little  Edward Harriet  Beecher  Stowe,  113 

29.  Dignity  of  Human  Nature Addison,  1 19 

30.  Pride  of  Ancestry .Daniel  Webster,  121 

31.  Nature's  Nobility Rev.  George  Aspinwall,  123 

32.  Bendemeer's  Stream Thomas  Moore  124 

33.  Arachne  and  Melissa Harris,  125 

34.  Nature  to  the  Eye  of  a  Christian Alison,  128 

35.  The  Virtuous  Woman Proverbs,  130 

86.  The  Boy  and  his  Angel Caroline  M.  Sawyer,  132 


CONTENTS.  Vil 

aXBBOISB  PAOB 

B1.  The  Lifa-Voyage Frances  S.  Osgood,  134 

38.  There  is  a  God Chateaubriand,  139 

39.  A  Night  in  the  Deserts  of  the  New  World "  140 

40.  Plainness  versus  Beauty Robert  Chambers,  141 

41.  The  Old  House  Clock Harper's  Magazine,  143 

42.  Nature's  Gentleman Eliza  Cook,  144 

43.  The  Heritage James  EttsseU  Lowell,  147 

44.  True  Estimate  of  Character Tattler,  149 

45.  Novelty Henry  Grove,  150 

46.  A  Pitiable  Patient 152 

47.  The  Lover's  Leap Literary  Magnet,  156 

48.  The  Whirlwind Miss  Juliet  H  Lewis,  161 

49.  Know  before  you  Speak Robert  Chambers,  163 

50.  The  Artist  Surprised J.  Hogg,  168 

51.  Mortality Knox,  113 

52.  The  American  Forest  GirL Mrs.  Hemans,  115 

53.  Honor  to  Women. From  the  German  of  Schiller,  118 

54.  The  People  always  Conquer Edward  Everett,  180 

55.  The  End  of  Female  Education Hannah  More,  182 

56.  Love  the  Aged L.  Virginia  Smith,  184 

51.  A  Lucid  Interval Literary  Magnet,  186 

58.  The  Reign  of  Elizabeth Francis  Jeffrey,  188 

59.  The  Princess  Charlotte  of  Wales Robert  Hall,  190 

60.  The  Death-Bed Thomas  Hood,  192 

61.  A  Dirge  for  the  Beautiful I>.  Ellen  Goodman  192 

62.  The  Pure  in  Heart  shall  Meet  Agam. Wm.  Leggett,  194 

63.  Life  Endeared  by  Age Oliver  Goldsmith,  195 

64.  Estimate  of  Life William  Hazlitt,  19'7 

65.  Ravages  of  Time Walter  Scott,  199 

66.  Passing  Away. Miss  Jewsbury,  200 

61.  When  is  the  Time  to  Die  ? Amanda  M.  Edmond,  201 

68.  Historical  Reading. Macaulay,  202 

69.  Italian  Scenery ; Alison,  204. 

10.  Loss  of  the  Arctic Henry  Ward  Beecher,  20t 

11.  Town  and  Country J.  Sheridan  Knowles,  210 

12.  Song  of  the  Shirt TJwmas  Hood,  214 

•73.  An  Address  to  an  Arm-chair,  newjy-clad W.  Somerville,  216 

•74.  Fashion Mrs.  Barbauld,  218 

T5.  The  Mountain  of  Miseries Addison,  225 

16.  Pride Alexander  Pope,  230 

11.  Jenny  Lind's  Greeting  to  America Bayard  Taylor,  231 


Vm  CONTENTS. 


XXERaSE  PAGS 

78.  Victoria's  Tears Elizabeth  B.  Browning,  232 

•79.  Female  I'atriotism Hook,  233 

80.  Authors R  P.  WhippU,  241 

81.  Ellen,  the  Lady  of  the  Lake Walter  Scott,  244 

82.  The  Italian  Exile 246 

83.  Adversity,  with  Interjections  by  the  Header.  ^Robert  Chambers,  24T 

84.  The  Mushroom  Family Mackenzie,  252 

85.  The  Pilgrim .From  the  German  of  Schiller,  by  Bulwer,  257 

86.  Ode  to  Contentment Parnell,  258 

87.  The  Little  "Word— No Merchants'  Ledger,  261 

88.  The  Grave. Literary  Magnet,  264 

89.  Elegy  written  in  a  Country  Churchyard Gray,  267 

90.  National  Monuments Alison,  271 

91.  Where  should  the  Scholar  Live  ? Longfellow,  274 

92.  The  Belfry  Pigeon K  P.  Willis,  275 

93.  The  Stormy  Petrel Park  Benjamin,  277 

94.  Communings  of  Nature Pollok,  278 

95.  Man Kirby,  279 

96.  The  Modern  Navigator Edward  Everett,  282 

97.  Ximena  and  Elmina Mrs.  Hemans,  284 

98.  The  Hunter  of  the  Alps From  the  German  of  Schiller,  286 

99.  Story  of  Alcander  and  Septimius Oliver  Goldsmith,  288 

100.  The  Real  Duration  of  Men's  Lives T.  Noon  Talfourd,  292 

101.  Value  of  Time Toung,  294 

102.  Angelo  and  Claudia Miss  Mitford,  297 

103.  Nimroud  in  Spring A.  H.  Layard,  299 

104.  La  Fayette Charles  Sprague,  301 

105.  Bingen  on  the  Rhine Mrs.  Norton,  304 

106.  Parting  of  Hector  and  Andromache.. . .  .Pope's  Homer's  Iliad,  305 

107.  The  Desert  and  the  Garden Rev.  Hollis  Reed,  309 

108.  Charge  against  Lord  Byron Jeffrey,  313 

109.  Lord  Byron Robert  Pollok,  316 

110.  The  Raven Edgar  A.  Poe,  320 

111.  The  Vision  of  Carazan Hawkesworth,  324 

112.  Gehazi's  Punishment Bible,  328 

113.  Thanatopsis William  C.  Bryant,  330 

114.  Hymn  of  the  Seasons Thomson,  333 

11 5.  A  Remarkable  Incident De  Quincey,  337 

116.  The  Talking  Lady Miss  Mitford,  340 

117.  The  Unbidden  Guest Luella  J.  Case,  344 

118.  Aspire  1 •. M.  F.  Tupper,  346 


CONTENTS.  IX 

ETEBOISE  FAGB 

119.  The  Aged. Mrs.  St.  Leon  Loud,  347 

120.  Study  Favcrable  to  Originality Charles  Butler,  348 

121.  Genius KP.  Whipple,  350 

122.  The  Toiees  of  the  Dead Dewey,  356 

123.  Resignation Henry  W.  Longfellow,  359 

124.  The  Hour  of  Death Mrs.  Remans,  361 

125.  Moral  Beauty Victor  Cousin,  262 

126.  Human  Activity  without  Limit "  364 

127.  Hymn  to  the  Setting  Sun G.  P.  JR.  James,  366 

128.  Incomprehensibihty  of  Glod Miss  Elizabeth  Townsend,  367 

129.  "Woman  :  her  Power  and  her  Progress L.  Aime  Martin,  369 

130.  Death  of  Little  Nell Charles  Dickens,  372 

131.  L— The  Sculptor-Boy's  Vision 376 

"        IL — Years  Ago George  P.  Morris,  377 

"       IIL — Freedom  of  the  Mind William  LMjd  Garrison,  378 

"       IV. — Invocation Anne  C.  Lynch,  378 

"         v.— True  Wit^ 379 

"       VI. — The  Heart  where  the  Treasure  is Bernard  Barton,  379 

"     VIL— Lines  from  a  Lady  Bom  Blind 380 

"    VIIL— Ode  to  the  Lark James  Hogg,  380 

"       IX.— Epithalamium J.  G.  C.  Brainard,  381 

"         X.— Strength  of  Affection Shakspeare,  382 

"       XI.— Memory  of  the  Departed WD.  Gallagher,  382 

"     XIL— Mind Akenside,  383 

"    XIIL— The  Flight  of  Time J.  G.  P&rcival,  383 

"    XIV.— Immortahty Robert  Burns,  384 

"      XV. — Difference  between  Knowledge  and  Wisdom. 384 

132.  The  Tempest Gecyrge  D.  Prentice,  385 

133.  The  Broken-Hearted "  388 

134.  The  Stars  of  Night Frances  Brown,  390 

135.  A  Mother's  Love Emily  Taylor,  391 

136.  Infancy  and  Mature  Age Crabbe,  392 

137.  Social  Enjoyment, — where  found 2i.  T.  Mirror,  394 

138.  Forest  Trees Washington  Irving,  400 

139.  Enjoyment  of  the  Present  Hour  recommended Dryden,  403 

140.  The  Rainbow Amelia  B.  Welby,  404 

141.  The  Light-House Thomas  Moore,  406 

142.  SoUd    Improvement,   the    True  End  of  Female   Education 
Sydney  Smith,  407 

143.  Rank    and    Riches,    not    Essential    to    Taste    and    Genius 
Thomas  Carlyle,  411 


CONTENTS, 


SXBBOISE  PAQB 

144.  The  Lord  of  Burleigh Alfred  Tennyson,  413 

145.  The  Maid  of  the  Ian Southey,  416 

146.  The  Female  Convict  to  her  Infant Bale,  420 

147.  The  Brahmin  and  the  Rogues. Macaulay,  421 

148.  Othello's  Defense Shakspeare,  422 

149.  Hagar  in  the  Wilderness K  F.  Willis,  427 

150.  The  Prairie  on  Fire J.  Fenimore  Cooper,  431 

151.  The  Acorn E.  Oakes  Smith,  437 

152.  The  Falls  of  Niagara L.  K  Sigourney,  446 

153.  OriginoftheWhite,  the  Red,  and  the  Black  Man,...  W:Jri?%,  451 

154.  The  Ottawa  Maid George  Oolton,  453 

155.  Song  of  the  Liglitning G.  W.  Gutter,  457 

156.  Beauty,  the  Mark  God  sets  upon  Virtue R.  W.  Emerson,  460 

157.  Duties  of  American  Citizens Francis  Wayland,  462 

158.  Earth  and  Heaven G.  F.  Richardson,  464 

159.  Speak  Gently  to  the  Erring F.  G.  Lee,  465 

160.  Character  of  Napoleon ^ Lamartine,  466 

161.  The  Corsican  not  Content WiUiam  H.  Seward,  468 

162.  Death  of  Napoleon Isaac  M'Lellan,  471 

163.  The  Needle Samuel  Woodworth,  472 

164.  The  Victor's  Crown Mrs.  Hale,  473 

165.  The  Moral  World  superior  to  the  Natural Grimke,  475 

166.  Beauty  of  Age L.  K  Sigourney,  477 

167.  Genius  Waking..... J.  G.  Fcrcival,  481 

168.  Battle  of  Waterloo Byron,  484 

169.  I. — Hope CampbeU,  486 

"        U.— Immortality  of  the  Soul Addison,  486 

"       III.— True  Happiness R.  B.  Sheridan,  486 

"       IV. — A  Firm  Religious  Belief. Sir  Humphrey  Davy,  487 

«         v.— Nature Sarah  J.  Hale,  487 

"       VI.— Retrospection 488 

"      VII.— Selfishness Pope,  488 

"    VIII. — A  Resolute  Mind Washington  Irving,  488 

"       IX. — The  Drop  of  Water Richard  Mant,  489 

"         X. — Female  Fortitude Washington  Irving,  489 

17b.  Connecticut  in  Early  Times Bancroft,  490 

171.  The  Tomb  of  Years Charles  Constantine  Pise,  493 

172.  Evening  in  Paradise Milton,  494 

173.  PoTi  er  and  Providence  of  (Jod Bible,  498 


SANDERS' 
YOUNG  LADIES'    READER. 


PART  FIRST. 

ELOCUTION, 

Elocution  is  tlie  art  of  delivering  written  or  extem- 
poraneous composition  with  force,  propriety,  and  ease. 

It  deals,  therefore,  with  words,  not  only  as  individuals,  but  as 
members  of  a  sentence,  and  parts  of  a  connected  discourse :  in- 
cluding every  thing  necessary  to  the  just  expression  of  the  sense. 
Accordingly,  it  demands,  in  a  special  manner,  attention  to  the 
following  particulars ;  viz.,  Articulation,  Accent,  Emphasis,  In- 
flection, Modulation,  and  Pauses. 


SECTION    I. 

ARTICULATION. 

Articulation  is  tlie  art  of  uttering  distinctly  and 
justly  the  letters  and  syllables  constituting  a  word. 

It  deals,  therefore,  with  the  elements  of  words,  just  as  elocution 
deals  with  the  elements  of  sentences :  the  one  securing  the  true 
enunciation  of  each  letter,  or  combination  of  letters,  the  other 
giving  to  each  word,  or  combination  of  words,  such  a  delivery  as 
best  expresses  the  meaning  of  the  author.     It  is  the  basis  of  all 

QuBSTioNS. — ^What  is  Elocution  ?  To  what  subjects  does  it  require 
porticular  attention  ?    What  is  Articulation  f 


•4?.-' 


,SAI5'I>ERS'     NEW     SERIES 


good  reading,  and  should  be  carefully  practiced  by  the  learner. 
The  following  Directions  and  Examples  are  given  as  guides  : 

I. — Produce,  according  to  the  following  Table,  all  the  El<» 
mentary  Sounds  of  the  Language  : 

ELEMENTARY  SOUNDS  OF  THE  LETTERS. 


VOWEL     SOUNDS. 

Sub- TONICS. 

Tonics. 

Element. 

Power. 

Element. 

Power. 

20.— J 

as  in 

Jet. 

l.—'A 

as  in 

A\)Q. 

21.— L 

u 

Let. 

%—^A. 

(( 

-4rin. 

22.— M 

u 

Mm. 

3.— 'A 

u 

^11. 

23.— N 

(I 

iV^ot. 

4.— *A 

(( 

At. 

24.— R 

u 

i?un. 

5.— ^E 

(( 

EVG. 

25.— V 

u 

Fent. 

6.— ''E 

(( 

^nd. 

26.— W 

(( 

TFent. 

■  7.-^1 

(( 

/ce. 

27.— Y 

(( 

Fes. 

8.— "I 

u 

/fc. 

28.— 'Z 

(( 

Zeal. 

9.-^0 

(( 

(91d. 

29— ^Z 

(I 

Asure. 

10.— =0 

u 

J)o. 

30.— NG 

u 

Sing. 

11.— '0 

(( 

Ok. 

31.— Til 

u 

Thy. 

12.— ^U 

i( 

Use. 

A-TONICS. 

13.— 'U 

{( 

Up. 

32.— F 

as  in 

Fit.    . 

14.— ^U 

(I 

Pdl. 

33.— H 

C( 

Hat, 

15.— 01 

(I 

Oil 

34.-K 

u 

Kidi. 

16.— OU 

(( 

Out. 

35.— P 

(( 

Pit. 

36.— S 

u 

Sm. 

OONSONANT     SOUNDS. 

37.— T 

u 

Top. 

bUB-TONICS. 

38.— CH 

(( 

CMi. 

17.— B 

as  in 

B&t. 

39.— SH 

a 

Shun. 

18.— D 

u 

Dim. 

40.— Til 

u 

Thxn. 

19.— G* 

(; 

Gun. 

41.— WHt 

u 

^Vhen. 

*  Soft  G  ia  equivalent  to  J;  Soft  C  to  S,  and  hard  C  and  Q  to  K. 
X  is  equivalent  to  K  and  S,  as  in  box,  or  to  G  and  Z,  as  in  exalt. 

•j  WH  is  pronounced  as  if  the  H  preceded  "W,  otherwise  it  would  be 
pronounced  W-hen.  R  should  be  slightly  trilled  before  a  vowel,  For 
further  instructions,  see  Sanders  and  Merrill's  Elementary  and  Elocu- 
tionary Chart. 

Questions. — How  many  Elementary  Sounds  are  there?  How  many 
vowel  sounds  ?    "What  are  they  ?     Utter  the  consonant  sounds. 


YOUNG     LADIES'  READER.  13 

SUBSTITUTES  FOR  TBE  VOWEL  ELEMENTS., 

1st.  For  Long  ^A,  we  have  ai^  as  in  sail ;  au  in  gauge ;  ay  in 

lay  ;  ea  in  greit ;  ei  in  deign;  ey  in  tliey. 
2cl.  For  Flat  ^ A,  au  in  daunt;  ua  in  guard;  ea  in  Tieari. 
3d.  For  Broad  ^A,  au  m  pause ;  aio  in  law  ;  eo  in  George  ;  oa  in 

^wrt^ ;  0  in  A(?7'7i ;  <>w  in  sought. 
ith.  For  xSAori  *A,  ai  m  plaid  ;  ua  in  guaranty. 
5th.  For  Zow^  ^E,  ea  in  weal; ;  ei  in  seise;  ze  in  Irief;  eo  in  ^eo- 

p?e;  *  m  pique;  ey  in  ^ey. 
6th.  For  Short  ^E,  « in  any  ;  ai  in  «ai(^  ;  ay  in  says  ;  ea  in  dead  ;  ei 
m  heifer;  eo m  leopard ;  ie m friend ;  ue in  guess;  umhury. 
7th.  For  Long  %  ai  in  aisle;  ei  in  sleight ;  ey  in  eye;  ie  in  <Zie; 

ui  in  guide  ;  uy  in  5wy  /  2/  i'^  ^^'y- 
8th.  For  Short  %  e  in  English  ;  ee  in  5ee;i ;  ie  in  siere;  o  in  wo- 

rtien ;  u  in  Ijusy  ;  ui  in  build;  y  in  symbol. 
9th.  For  Z<?/2^  ^O,  a^  in  hautboy ;  eau  in  6eaw  ;  eo  in  yeoman  ;  eto 
in  «ew ;  oa  in  Joa^;  <?e  in  hoe  ;  ou  in  «omZ;  ow  inflow. 
10th.,  For  Zon^  Slender  ^O,  oe  in  sAoe;  ou  in  S(?wj9.  , 
11th.  For  Short  ^O,  a  in  was ;  ou  in  hough  ;  ow  in  Tcnowledge. 
12th.  For  Zon^  ^U,  eaw  in  beauty  ;  eu  in  feud  ;  ew  in  fZezo  ;  tte  in 

ewe;  ou  in  your  ;  ui  in  fruit. 
13th.  For  /^Aori  ^U,  e  in  Aer;  i  in  sir;  oe  in  (Z(?e«;  o  in  love. 
14th.  For  /SAo^'i  Slender  ^U,  o  in  wo?/;  ou  in  would. 
]5th.  For  01,  oy  in  joy. 
16th.  For  OU,  ow  in  now. 

SUBSTITUTES  FOR  THE  CONSONANT  ELEMENTS. 

For  F,  we  have  gh^  as  in  laugh  ;  ph  in  sphere. 

For  J,  g  in  gem,  gin,  gyre. 

For  K,  c  in  can;  cA  in  chord ;  gh  in  hough ;  q  in  2'wz7. 

For  S,  c  in  cent,  don,  cygnet. 

For  T,  d  in  faced:  phth  in  phthisic. 

For  V,  /  in  of;  ph  in  Stephen. 

For  Y,  i  in  onion,  valiant. 

For  ^Z,  c  in  swj^ce  ;  s  in  is  ;  a;  in  Xerxes. 

For  ''Z,  s  in  treasure;  z  in  aswre. 

Questions. — How  many  substitutes  has  long  A  f  How  many  has 
flat  A,  and  what  are  they  ?  How  many  has  broad  A,  <fec.  ?  How 
many  substitutes  has  each  of  the  consonants,  and  what  are  they  ? 


li 


SANDEES'     NEW     SERIES 


For  NG,  n  in  languid^  linguist. 

For  SF,  ci  iu  scciaZ ;  ch  in  cAais-s ;  si  in  pension  ;  a  in  sure ;  at 

in  issue  ;  ti  in  notion. 
For  OH,  ^i  in  fustion,  mixtion.     * 
B,  D,  G,  H,  L,  M,  N,  P,  and  R,  have  no  substitutes. 


II. — ^Avoid  the  suppression  of  a  syllable ;  as, 


cab'n 

cap'n 

barr'l 

ev'ry 

hist'ry 

reg'lar 

sev-ral 

rhet'rio 


for 


cab-in. 

mem'ry 

cap-toin. 

jub'lee 

bar-reL 

trav'ler 

ev-er-y. 

fam'ly 

his-to-ry. 

vent'late 

reg-w-lar. 

des'late 

sev-cr-al. 

prob'ble 

rhet-o-ric. 

par-tic'lar 

for 


mem-o-ry. 

ju-bi-lee. 

trav-el-er. 

fam-i-ly. 

ven-ti-late. 

des-o-late. 

prob-a-ble. 

par-tic-^^•la^. 


III. — Avoid  the  omission  of  any  sound  properly  belonging 
to  a  word ;  as, 


read-in 

for 

read-in^r. 

pr'-tect 

for 

pro-teet. 

Bwif-ly 

« 

swifMy. 

b'-low 

" 

b(?-low. 

corn-mans 

M 

com-man(fe. 

p'r-vade 

« 

pcr-vade. 

wam-er 

(( 

•warm-er. 

srink-in 

(( 

sArink-in^r. 

um-ble 

« 

Aum-ble. 

th'if-ty 

" 

thrif-ty. 

ap-py 

<( 

Aap-py. 

as-ter-is 

" 

as-ter-is^. 

con-sis 

(( 

con-8is<«. 

gov-er-ment 

" 

gov-ern-ment. 

fa-t'l 

« 

fa-tal. 

Feb-u-a-ry 

« 

Feb-ru-a-ry. 

IV. — Avoid  the  substitution 

of  one  sound  for  another ;  as, 

t<f-ford 

for 

rtf-ford. 

mod-est 

for 

mod-est. 

wil-ler 

« 

wil-low. 

wp-prove 

u 

ap-prove. 

sock-it 

(( 

sock-et. 

«>in-e-gar 

" 

vin-e-gar. 

fear-lMSS 

(( 

fear-less. 

sep-e-rate 

« 

sep-a-rate. 

cul-ter 

« 

cul-twre. 

tem-per-it 

" 

tem-per-ate. 

prod-ua; 

<( 

prod-ucifs. 

croc-cr-dile 

« 

croc-o-dile. 

judg-mtmt 

" 

judg-ment. 

tuh-ac-cuv 

« 

to-bac-co. 

chil-drin 

u 

cliil-dr(?n. 

com-prMm-ise 

« 

com-pro-mise. 

Questions. — ^What  letters  have  no  substitutes  ?  What  error  in  Ar- 
ticulation voxild  be  avoided  by  the  observance  of  direction  II.  ?  Give 
examples.  What,  by  diref  tion  III.  ?  Examples.  What,  by  direction 
IV.  ?     Examples. 


YOUNG     LADIES'     READER.  15 

V. — ^Produce  the  sounds  denoted  by  the  following  combi- 
nations of  consonants : 

Let  the  pui:)il  first  produce  the  sounds  of  the  letters,  and  then  the 
word,  or  words,  in  which  they  occur.  Be  careful  to  give  a  clear 
and  distinct  enunciation  to  every  letter. 

1.  Bd^  as  in  roVd;  bdst^  -^YoVdst ;  M,  5?and,  a.ble;  hid,  humird; 

lldst^  tvovibVdst;  list,  tronbrst;  biz,  cmmbles;  br,  brand]  bz^ 

Tibs. 

2.  Ch,  as  in  cTimtcTi  ;  cht,  fetch'' d. 

8.  Dj,  as  in  edge;  djd,  'b.edg''d;  dl,  hrxdle ;  did,  riMVd ;  dlst, 
h-RYidrst ;  dlz,  hundlea ;  dn,  harcZ'w;  dr,  dro\e',  dih,viidth; 
dths,  hveadths ;  dz,  odds. 

4.  Fl,  as  in  ^ame ;  fid,  vifi'd  ;  fist,  stifi^st ;  fiz,  x\fies  ;  fr,  f roves. ;  fs, 

quajf«,  lau^As  ;  fst,  XoxxgKst,  quajf' si ;  ft,  roft ;  fits,  v^afts ; 
ftst,  gvaffst. 

5.  Gd,  as  in  hegg-d ;  gdst,  hTagg''dst ;  gl,  glide ;  gld,  QirwggVd ; 

gldst,haggrdst ;  glst,^iv2iX\gVst ;  glz,  mingles;  gr,  grove-,  gst^ 
hegg'st ;  gz,  ^gs. 

6.  Kl,  as  in  uncle,  anJcle;  Md,  tvlcM^d ;  hldst,  tvnekVdst ;  hist., 

chMdkVst ;  Tclz,  yfjxmkles ;  Ten,  blacFn;  lend,  recFri'd;  Tcndst, 
veeh'n^dst ;  Tcnst,  blacF/i'si ;  Tcnz,  recFns ;  kr,  crank ;  ks, 
chec^;  Jet,  act. 
{.  Lb,  as  in  hnlb  ;  Ibd,  hwWd  ;  lbs,  hnlbs  ;  Ich,  fiZcA  /  Icht,  helcJi'd; 
Id,  hold;  Idst,  fold'st ;  Idz,  hold^;  If,  self;  Ifs,  gnlfs;  Ij, 
buZ^e;  Ik,  elk;  Iks, silks;  lkt,m\Wd ;  Ikts,  mulcts;  lm,elm; 
Imd,  whelni'd ;  Imz,  G.lms ;  In,  ialVn  ;  Ip,  help ;  Ips,  scalps ; 
Ipst,  help''st ;  Is,  false  ;  1st,  calVst ;  It,  melt ;  Ith,  health :  ItTia, 
stealths;  Its,  colts;  Iv,  delve;  Ivd,  shelved;  Ivz,  elves;  Iz, 
halls. 

8.  ifcZ,  as  in doom'^;  mf  triumph ;  mp,hemp  ;  mpt,  tempt;  mpts., 

aitempts ;  mst,  entomVst;  mz,  tombs. 

9.  li^ch,  as  in  hench;  ncht,  ^IncVd;  nd,  and;  ndst,  end''st ;  ndz. 

ends ;  ng,  snng ;  ngd,  hang'd ;  ngth,  length ;  ngz,  songs ;  nj^ 
range ;  njd,  rang'^d ;  nk.  Ink ;  7iks,  ranks ;  nkst,  thanFsi ;  nst^ 
wlnc''d;  nt,  sent;  nts,  rents;  ntst,  werifst;  nz,  mns. 

10.  PI,  as  in  ^?ume ;  pld,  rl^pVd ;  plst,  rl^pVst ;  plz,  apples ;  pr, 

prince :  ps,  sips  ;  pst,  rapp^st. 


16  SANDEES'     NEW     SERIES. 


11.  i?&,  as  in  hcr5;  rcA, search;  rcht^  churched;  rM^orVd;  rbdat^ 
harb^dst ;  rlst,  d'lsturh^st ;  rhz^  orhs ;  rd,  hard ;  rdst^  hearcZ's^ , 
rdz^  words;  rf^  turf;  rft,  scarf ''d;  rg^hwrg ;  rgz^hurgs;  rj, 
dirge ;  rjd,  urg''d ;  r\  arlc ;  rJcs,  arlcs ;  rTcst^  -worFst ;  rM, 
dir/fcW;  rJctst,  emharFdst;  rl^  g\rl;  rld^  world;  rldst,  h.n7'ld''st; 
rls%  wh\rVst;  rh,  hurls;  rm,  arm;  rmd,  arrn'd;  rmds% 
harrrCdst ;  rmst^  arm'st ;  rmz^  charms ;  rn,  turn ;  md^  turn'd ; 
rndst,  QarrCdst ;  rnst,  learri'st ;  rnz^  urns ;  rp^  carp ;  rps^ 
harps;  rpt,  warped;  rs^  \erse;  rsh,  harsh;  rst,  first;  rsts^ 
hursts;  rt,  dart;  rth^  earth;  rths^  hirth^;  rts,  marts;  rtst^ 
darfst;  rv^  curve ;  rvd,  nerved;  rvdst,  curv^dst ;  rvst,  swer«'«<; 
rvz,  nerves;  rz^  errs. 
2.  Sh,  as  in  shi^ ;  sht,  hush'^d ;  sTc^  scan,  s^ip ;  sTcs^  iusTcs ;  sJcst^ 
frisFst ;  sJct^  risFd ;  sl^  slow ;  sld^  nestVd ;  slz^  wrestles ; 
sm,  smile ;  sn,  snag ;  sp,  sport ;  sps,  lisps ;  spt^  ciasp'd ;  st^ 
stag ;  str^  strike  ;  sts^  rests ;  sw,  stcing. 

13.  Th^  as  in  thine,  tJiin  ]  thd,hreath''d;  thr^  three;  thst,hreath''st ; 

thw,  thwack',  thz,  writhes;  tl,  title;  tld,  settVd;  tldst, 
settrdst;  tlst,  settVst;  tie,  nettles;  tr,  irunk;  ts,  fits;  tw, 
it^oirl. 

14.  Vd,  as  in  curv'd;  vdst,  Wdst:  vl,  driv''l;  vld,  grov'Vd;  vlds% 

grov'Vdst;  vlst,  driv'Vst;  vn,  driven;  vst,  Wst;  vz,  lives. 

15.  Wh,  as  in  when,  wJiere. 

16.  Zd, as  in  mus^d;  zl,  dazzle;  zld,  muzzVd;  zldst,  dazzVdst;  zlst, 

dazzVst;  zlz,  muzzles;  zm,  sTpasm;  zmz,  chasms;  zn,  ris-n ; 
znd,  reas''n'd ;  znz,  ■pris'nz ;  zndst,  impris'n'*^^. 

VI. — Avoid  blending  the  termination  of  one  -word  with  the 
beginning  of  another,  or  suppressing  the  final  letter  or  letters 
of  one  word,  when  the  next  word  commences  with  a  similar 
sound, 

EXAMPLES. 

False  sighs  sicken  instead  of  Fal'  sigh'  sicken. 

In  peril's  darkest  Aour  "  In  peril's  darkest  ^ower. 

Question. — What  error  in  Articulation  would  be  avoided  by  the  ob* 
eervance  of  direction  VI.  ?     Give  ex:ample8. 


YOUNG     LAITIES'     EEADEK.  17 


Song5  of  praises,  instead  of  Song  5of  praises. 

We  are  apt  to  shut  our  eyes,  **  "We  are  rs^pt  to  shu^  tour  rise. 

It  strilces  with  aw  awe,  "  It  strikes  vnth  a  naw. 

A  reader  made  easy,  "  A  redermadezy. 

The  scenes  of  those  dark  ages,  "  The  scenes  sof  those  dark 

Dry  the  orphan's  tears,  "  Dry  the  orphan  shears. 

Percivab'  acfe  and  extract?,  "  Percival  sacks  sand  cf extract. 

Note. — By  an  indistinct  Articulation  the  sense  of  a  pas- 
sage is  often  liable  to  be  perverted. 

EXAMPLES, 

1.  He  built  him  an  ice  ^use. 
He  built  him  a  nice  ^ouse. 

2.  My  heart  is  awed  within  me. 
My  heart  is  sawed  within  me. 

3.  A  greai  error  often  exists. 
A  grea^  terror  often  existe. 

4.  He  is  content  in  either  situation. 
He  is  content  in  neither  situation. 

5.  Whom  ocean  feels  through  all  her  countless  waves. 
Who  ?notion  feels  through  all  her  countless  waves. 

6.  My  brothers  ought  to  owe  nothing. 
My  brothers  sought  to  own  nothing. 

T.  He  was  called  by  his  father's  name. 
He  was  scaUed  by  his  father's  name. 

8.  We  traveled  o'er  fields  of  ice  and  snow. 
We  traveled  o'er  fields  of  vice  sand  snow 

9.  He  was  drained  in  the  religion  of  his  fathers. 
He  was  sprained  in  the  religion  of  his  fathers. 

MISCELLANEOUS      EXAMPLES. 

1.  The  hights,  depths^  lengths,  and  hveadths  of  the  subje  rf. 

2.  The  flag  of  freedom  floats  once  move  aloft. 

3.  It  was  decidedly  the  severest  storm  of  the  season. 

4.  She  sought  shelter  from  the  sunshine  in  the  s^ade. 
6.  His  shriveled  limbs  were  shivering  with  the  cold. 

QuESTioiT, — How,  by  indistinct  articulation,  is  the  sense  of  a  passage 
Wkble  to  be  perverted?    Give  examples. 


18  SANDEKS'     NEW     SEEIES. 

6.  A  big  black  bng  bit  a  big  black  bo&r. 

*l.  Bound  the  rough  and  rugged  rocks  the  ragged  rascai  ran. 

8.  He  sawed  six  long,  slim,  sleek,  slender  saplings, 

9.  Slowly  and  sadly  we  laid  him  down. 
From  the  field  of  his  fame  fresh  and  gory. 

10.  jFVom  thy  throne  in  the  sky,  thou.  looWst  and  laugh' si  at  the  stxym^ 
and  guid'st  the  holts  of  Jove. 

11.  The  unceremonious,nes,s  of  their  commttmcabth'ty  «s  wholly  «nex- 
phcoble. 

12.  The  hest  of  aU  governments  in  this  badly  governed  world,  is  a  re- 
publican  government. 

13.  When  the  world  is  dark  with  tempests,  when  thunders  roll  and 
lightnings  fly,  thon  lookest  in  thy  beauty  ^om  the  clouds,  and  laughest  at 
the  storm. 

14.  The  hidden  ocean  showed  itself  anew. 
And  barren  wastes  stiU  stole  upon  the  view. 

15.  He  spoke  dzsmterestedly,  reasonably,  philosophically,  particwlarly, 
perempton'ly,  authoritatively,  unhesitatingly,  and  extemporaneously. 

16.  ffia  falchion  flashed  along  the  Nile  ; 

jyis  hosts  he  led  through  Alpine  snows ; 
O'er  Moscow's  towers  that  blazed  the  wAite, 
His  eagle  flag  unrolled  and  froze. 


SECTION  IL 

ACCENT    AND     EMPHASIS. 

Accent  and  Emphasis  both  indicate  some  special 
stress  of  voice. 

Accent  is  that  stress  of  voice  bj  which  one  syllable  of  a 
word  is  made  more  prominent  than  others  ;  Emphasis  is  that 
stress  of  voice  by  which  one  or  more  words  of  a  sentence  are 
distinguished  above  the  rest. 

:    Questions. — What  do  Accent  and  Emphasis  indicate  ?    What  is  Ac- 
cent?   What  is  Emphasis  ? 


YOUNG     LADIES'     READER.  19 

ACCENT. 

The  accented  syllable  is  sometimes  designated  thus : 
(/);  as,  com-mand' -ment. 

Note  I. — Words  of  more  than  two  syllables  generally  have 
two  or  more  of  them  accented. 

The  more  forcible  stress  of  voice,  is  called  the  Primary 
Accent ;  and  the  less  forcible,  the  Secondary  Accent. 

EXAMPLES     OF     PRIMARY     ACCENT. 

Farm'-er,  Jion'-or,  pat'-tern,  rem'-nant,  a-hide',  con-dude',  af-fect',  ex- 
pand', a-tone'-ment,  le-hav'-ior,  con-tent' -ment,  un-grate'-ful,  in-tens'-ive, 
trans-ac'-tion. 

EXAMPLES     OF    PRIMARY     AND     SECONDARY    ACCENT. 

In  the  following  examples  the  Primary  Accent  is  desig- 
nated by  double  accentual  marks,  thus : 

Ed"-u-cate',  ed'-u-ca"-tion.  mul"-ti-ply'^  mul'-ti-pli-ca"-tion,  sai"-is-fy', 
sat'-is-fac"-iwn,  com'-pre-hend",  com-pre-hen"-sion,  red -o^x-mend" ,  rec'-om- 
mend-a" -tion,  mo" -ment-a' -ry ,  com-mu" -ni-caie' ,  com'-pU-ment"-al,  in- 
ckm'-ni-fi-ca"-tion,  ex' -tem-po-ra" -ne-oits,  coun'-ter-rev'-o-lu"-tion-a-ry. 

Note  II. — The  change  of  accent  on  the  same  word,  oftea 
changes  its  meaning. 

EXAMPLES. 

coF-league,  a  partner.  col-league',  to  unite  wUh. 

con'-duct,  behavior.  con-duct',  to  lead. 

des'-cant,  a  song  or  tune.  des-cant',  to  comment, 

ob'-ject,  ultimate  purpose.  ob-ject',  to  oppose. 

ref-use,  worthless  remains.  re-fuse',  to  deny;  reject, 

iproy-ect,  apian;  a  scheme.  ipTO-iect' ,  to  jut  out. 

in'-ter-dict,  a  prohibition.  in-ter-dict',  to  forbid. 

o'-yer-throw,  ruin ;  defeat.  o-ver-throw',  to  throio  down. 

Question. — Which  accent  has  the  more  forcible  stress:  of  voice,  the 
primary,  or  secondary  ?  What  effect  does  the  change  of  accent  on  the 
same  word  produce  ?    Give  examples. 


20  SANDERS'     NEW     SERIES 


Note  III. — Emphatic  words  are  often  printed  in  Italics, 
When,  hovever,  different  degrees  of  emphasis  are  to  be  de- 
noted, the  higher  degrees  are  designated  by  the  use  of  Cap- 
itals, LARGER  or  smaller,  according  to  the  degree  of  in- 
tensity. 

BXAMPLES. 

1.  To  arms  !  to  aems  1  to  ARMS  I  they  cry. 

2.  Awake,  my  heart,  awake  I 
Green  vales  and  icy  cliffs,  all  join  my  hymn. 

3.  And  Agrippa  said  unto  Paul :  Almost  thou  persuadest  me  to  he  & 
Christian.  And  Paul  said :  I  would  to  God  that  not  only  thou,  but  also 
aU  that  hear  me  this  day,  were  both  almost  and  altogether  such  as  I 
am,  except  these  bonds. 

4.  The  thing  that  hath  been,  it  is  that  which  sTidU  be,  and  that  which 
is  done,  is  that  which  shaU  be  done,  and  there  is  no  new  thing  under 
the  sun. 

Note  IV. — Emphasis,  as  before  intimated,  varies  in  de- 
grees of  intensity. 

examples    of    intensive    emphasis, 

1.  Arm,  warriors,  ARM  for  the  conflict ! 

2.  The  war  is  inevitable — and  let  it  come  !  I  repeat  it,  Sir, — ^LET 
IT  COME  I     Fairick  Eenrij. 

3.  I  know  not  what  course  others  may  take ;  but  as  for  Tne,  give  me 
LIBERTY,  or  give  me  DEATH !     Idem. 

4.  The  conflict  deepens  1     On,  ye  brave, 
Who  rush  to  glory,  or  the  grave  ! 

5.  If  I  were  an  American,  as  I  am  an  Englishman,  while  a  foreign 
troop  remained  in  my  country,  I  never  would  lay  down  my  arms. — 
NEVER,  NEVER,  never.    Pitt. 

Note  V. — Emphasis  sometimes  changes  the  seat  of  accent 
from  its  ordinary  position. 

Questions. — How  are  emphatic  words  often  denoted  ?  How  are  those 
denoted,  which  are  very  emphatic  ?  How  is  Emphasis  varied  ?  Repeat 
the  examples  of  intensive  emphasis.  "What  effect  has  Emphasis  some' 
times  on  accent  ?    Give  examples. 


YOUNG     LADIES'     READER.  21 


EXAMPLES. 

1.  Ho  must  in'orease,  but  I  must  de'cvease. 

2.  Joseph  attends  school  reg'nlsLrlj ;  but  William,  eV'regularly. 

3.  Did  he  perform  his  part  grace^rnWj,  or  mti 'gracefully  ? 

4.  There  is  a  difference  between  pos 'sibility  and  j^roft^abilitj. 

5.  "We  are  not  to  inquire  into  the  just'ice  or  m'justice.  the  hon^OT  or 
e?i5  honor  of  the  deed;  nor  whether  it  was  law'ful  or  un^la,wfu.\,  wise  or 
MTi'wise. 

Note  VI. — There  are  two  kinds  of  Emphasis  : — Absolute 
and  Antithetic.  Absolute  Emphasis  is  used  to  designate  the 
important  words  of  a  sentence,  without  any  direct  reference 
to  other  words. 

EXAMPLES     OF     ABSOLUTE     EMPHASIS, 

1.  Be  we  men, 

And  suffer  such  dishonor  ?    Men,  and  wash  not 
The  stain  away  in  blood  ? 

2.  7b-morrow,  didst  thou  say?    To-morrcw? 
It  is  a  period  nowhere  to  be  found 

In  all  the  hoary  registers  of  time.     Cotton. 

3.  I  shall  know  but  one  country.  The  ends  /  aim  at,  shall  be  "  My 
CouNTRr's,  my  God's,  and  Truth's."     Webster. 

4.  I  was  born  an  American ;  I  live  an  American ;  I  shall  die  an  Amer- 
ican.   Id. 

5.  Speak  out,  my  friends ;  would  you  exchange  it  for  the  demon's 
DRINK,  Alcohol?  A  shout,  like  the  roar  of  a  tempest,  answered 
"NOT 

6.  Tou,  noble  Americans,  we  bless  in  the  name  of  the  God  of  liberty. 
Kossuth. 

1.  He  paused  a  moment,  and  with  an  enchanting  smile,  whispered 
softly  the  name,  ^^ England T  Louder  he  cried,  "England  I"  He 
waved  his  handkerchief  and  shouted,  "  ENGLAND  1" 

8.  0  SACRED  FORMS !  how  proud  you  look  I 
How  high  you  lift  your  heads  into  the  sky ; 

How  huge  you  are  I  how  mighty  and  how  free!    Knowles. 

9.  "Hold  I"  Tyranny  cries ;  but  their  resolute  breath 
Sends  back  the  reply,  "  INDEPENDENCE  or  DEATH !" 

Questions. — How  many  kinds  of  Emphasis  are  there  ?  "What  ia  Ab- 
solute Emphasis  '    Give  examples. 


i 


22  SANDERS*     NEW     SERIES. 


\ 


Note  VII. — Antithetic  Emphasis  is  that  which  is  founded 
on  the  contrast  of  one  word  or  clause  with  another. 

EXA.MPJ,ES     OP     ANTITHETIC     EMPHASIS. 

1.  If  we  have  no  regard  for  our  own  character,  we  ought,  at  least,  to 
regard  the  characters  of  oiTiers. 

2.  The  wicked  flee  when  no  man  pursiieth ;  but  the  righteous  are  bold 
as  a  lion.     BiUe. 

3.  Living  I  shall  assert  it,  dying ^  I  shall  assert  it.     Webster. 
■4.  You  were  paid  to  fight  Alexander,  not  to  rail  at  him. 

5.  He  is  the  propitiation  for  our  sins ;  and  not  for  ours  only,  but  for 
the  sins  of  the  whole  world.    Bible. 

6.  Ye  worship  ye  know  not  what :  we  Tcnow  what  we  worship. 

Note  VIII. — ^The  following  examples  contain  two  or  more 
sets  of  Antitheses. 

1.  I  will  make  the  stars  of  the  west  the  suns  of  the  east.    Kossuth. 

2.  We  must  hold  them  as  we  hold  the  rest  of  mankind — enemies  in  war^ 
in  peace,  friends.    Jefferson. 

3.  The  wise  man  is  happy  when  he  gains  his  own  approbation,  the/»^ 
when  he  gains  that  o?  others. 

4.  WithouPwere  fightings,  wiffiin  were  fears.    Bible. 

5.  When  the  righteous  are  in  authority,  the  people  rejoice ;  but  when 
the  wicked  beareth  rule,  the  people  mourn.    Ibid. 

6.  Faithful  are  the  wounds  of  a  friend ;  but  the  kisses  of  an  enemy  are 
deceitful.    Ibid. 

1.  Set  honor  in  one  eye,  and  death  in  the  other. 

And  I  will  look  on  both  indifferently. 

8.  A  man's  first  care  should  be  to  avoid  the  reproach^  of  his  own 
heart ;  his  next,  to  escape  the  censure  of  the  world. 

9.  Religion  raises  men  above  themselves ;  irrdigion  sinks  them  beneath 
the  brutes. 

10.  It  is  my  living  sentiment,  and,  by  the  blessing  of  God,  it  shall  be 
my  dying  sentiment ;  independence  now,  and  independence  foeevee  I 
Webster. 

Note  IX. — ^The  sense  of  a  passage  is  varied  by  changing 
the  place  of  the  emphasis. 

Questions. — ^What  is  Antithetic  Emphasis  ?  Grive  examples.  What 
effect  has  a  change  of  Emphasis  on  the  sense  of  a  passage  ?    Examples. 


YOUNG     LADIES'  READER.  23 


EXAMPLES. 

1.  Has  James  seen  his  brother  ioA&j  ?    No ;  but  Charles  has. 

2.  Has  James  seen  his  brother  to-day  ?  No ;  but  he  has  Tieard  firoa 
him 

3.  Has  James  seen  his  brother  to-day  ?    No ;  but  he  saw  yours. 

4.  Has  James  seen  his  brother  to-day?  No;  but  he  has  seen  his 
sister. 

5.  Has  James  seen  his  brother  to-day?  No;  but  he  saw  him  yes- 
terday. 

Remark. — ^To  determine  the  emphatic  words  of  a  sentence, 
as  well  as  the  degree  and  kind  of  emphasis  to  be  employed, 
the  reader  must  be  governed  wholly  by  the  sentiment  to  be 
expressed.  The  idea  is  sometimes  entertained,  that  emphasis 
consists  merely  in  loudness  of  tone.  But  it  should  be  borne 
in  mind,  that  the  most  intense  emphasis  may  often  be  effec- 
tively expressed,  even  by  a  whisper. 


SECTION    III. 

INFLECTIONS, 

Inflections  are  turns  or  slides  of  tbe  voice, 
made  in  reading  or  speaking ;   as.   Will  jou  go  to 

Kew  or  to       .«=» 

All  the  various  sounds  of  the  human  voice  may  be  com- 
prehended under  the  general  appellation  of  tones.  The  prin- 
cipal modifications  of  these  tones  are  the  Monotone,  the 
EisiNG  Inflection,  the  Falling  Inflection,  and  the  Circum- 

PLEX. 

Question. — How  are  the  emphatic  words  of  a  sentence  determined  ? 
"What  are  inflections?  "What  are  the  principal  modifications  of  the  hu- 
man voice  ? 


24  SANDEES*     NEW     SERIES. 

The  Horizontal  Line  (  -  )  denotes  the  Monotone. 
The  Rising  Slide         (/  )  denotes  the  Rising  Inflection. 
The  Falling  Slide       (\  )  denotes  the  Falling  Inflection. 
The  Curve  (w)  denotes  the  Circumflex. 

The  Monotone  is  that  sameness  of  sound,  which 
arises  from  repeating  the  several  words  or  syllables  of  a 
passage  in  one  and  the  same  general  tone. 

Remark. — ^The  Monotone  is  employed  with  admirable  effect 
in  the  delivery  of  a  passage  that  is  solemn  or  sublime. 

EXAMPLES. 

1.  Man  that  is  born  of  a  woman,  is  of  few  days  and  full  of  trouble. 
H6  Cometh  forth  like  a  flower,  and  is  cut  down ;  he  fleeth  also  aa 
ft  shadow,  and  contiuueth  not. 

2.  Man  dieth,  and  wasteth  away :  yea,  man  giveth  up  the  ghost, 
and  where  is  he?  As  the  waters  fail  from  the  sea,  and  the  flood 
decayeth  and  drieth  tip,  so  man  lieth  down,  and  riseth  not ;  till 
the  heavens  be  no  more,  they  shall  not  awake,  nor  be  raised  out 
of  their  sleep. 

3.  For  thus  saiththe  high  and  lofty  one  that  inbabiteth  eternity, 
whose  name  is  Holy,  I  dwell  in  the  high  and  holy  place. 

4.  Lord,  thou  hast  been  our  dwelling-place  in  all  generations. 
Before  the  mountains  were  brought  forth,  or  ever  thou  hadst 
formed  the  earth  and  the  world,  even  from  everlasting  to  evei- 
lasting.  Thou  art  God.    Bible. 

5.  O  thou  that  rollest  above,  round  as  the  shield  of  my  fathers  I 
whence  are  thy  beams,  O  sun  !  thy  everlasting  light  ?     Ossian. 

6.  High  on  a  throne  of  royal  state,  which  far 
Outshone  the  wealth  of  Ormus  or  of  Ind, 

Or  where  the  gorgeous  east,  with  richest  hand. 
Showers  on  her  kings  barbaric  peal  and  gold, 
Satan  exalted  sat !     Milton. 

Remarkj — But  the  inappropriate  use  of  the  monotone, — a 
fault  into  which  young  people  naturally  fall,  is  a  very  grave 

Question. — ^How  are  they  sometimes  denoted  ?  What  is  the  Mono- 
tone? What  passages  should  be  read  with  the  monotone?  Give 
examples  ? 


rOUKG     LADIES      READER. 


25 


and  obstinate   error.     It  is  always  tedious,  and  often  even 
ridiculous.     It  should  be  studiously  avoided. 

The  EisiNG  Inflection  is  an  upward  turn,  or  slide 
of  the  voice,  used  in  reading  or  speaking ;  as,  Are  yon 

prepared  to  recite  your  ^ 

The  Falling  Inflection  is  a  downward  turn,  or 
slide  of  the  voice,  used  in  reading  or  speaking;   as, 

\ 

What  are  you  ^ 

In  the  falling  inflection,  the  voice  should  not  sink  below  the 
general  pitch  ;  but  in  the  rising  inflection,  it  is  raised  above  it. 

The  two  inflections  may  be  illustrated  by  the  following 
diagrams : 


1.  Did  he  act  ^' 


2.  Did  they  go    ^, 


^k 


'^    He  acted 


P      They  went 


3: 


y/. 


..v^^ 


3.  If  the  flight  of  Dryden  is 


the  ^^^     If  the  blaze  of  Dryden's  fire  is     \>^^ 


Pope    continues  longer  on 
the  heat    of 


\^\ 


\^. 


Pope's  is  more  regular  and 


Question. — What  is  the  Rising  Inflection  ?  What  is  the  Falling  In- 
flection ?  In  the  falling  inflection  should  the  voice  sink  below  the  gene* 
ral  pitch  ?    Is  it  raised  above  the  general  pitch  in  the  rising  inflection  ? 

2 


SANDEKS'     NEW     SERIES. 


4.  And  hath  man  the  power,  with  his  pride  and  skill, 

To  arouse  all  nature  with  storms  at  will  ? 
Hath  he  power  to  color  the  summer  cloud, — 
To  allay  the  tempest,  when  hills  are  bowed? 
Can  he  waken  the  spring  with  her  festal  wreath  ? 
Can  the  sun  grow  dim  by  his  latest  breath  ? 
"Will  he  come  again  when  death's  vale  is  trod? 
Who  then  shall  dare  murmur, — "  There  is  no  God  ?" 

Kemabe. — ^The  same  degree  of  inflection  is  not,  at  all  times, 
used,  or  indicated  by  the  notation.  The  due  degree  to  be 
employed,  depends  on  the  naturae  of  what  is  to  be  expressed. 
For  example;    if  a  person,   under  great   excitement,   asks 


another :  Are  you  in   ^     the  degree  of  inflection  would  be 

much  greater,  than  if  he  playfully  asks :  Are  you  in    o^ 
The   former  inflection  may  be   called  intensive,  the  latter, 
common. 


RULES  FOR  THE  USE  OF  INFLECTIONS. 

RULE   I. 
Direct  questions,  or  tbose  wbicb  may  be  answered 
by  yes  or  wo,  usually  take  tbe  rising  inflection  ;  but  their 
answers,  tbe  falling. 

EXAMPLES. 

1.  Will  you  send  me  those  flowers  ?    T6s ;  or,  I  wilL 

2.  Did  you  give  me  s^ven  ?    No ;  I  gave  you  six. 

3.  Are  we  better  than  they?    No ;  in  no  wise. ' 

4.  Is  he  the  G-od  of  the  Jews  6nly  ?  is  he  not  also  of  the  Gentiles  \ 
T^s;  of  the  Gentiles  also. 

Questions. — ^Is  the  same  degree  of  inflection  to  be  used  at  all  times. 
Repeat  Rule  I.    Give  examples. 


YOUNG     LADIES'     KEADER.  27 

6.  Do  we  then  make  void  the  law  through  faith  ?  God  forbid :  we 
establish  the  law.     Bille. 

6.  "Will  he  plead  against  me  with  his  great  power  ?  No ;  but  he  will 
put  strength  in  me.     Id. 

T.  Was  it  ambition  that  induced  Regulus  to  return  to  Carthage  ?  No  • 
but  a  love  of  country  and  respect  for  truth — an  act  of  moral  subUmity, 
arising  out  of  the  firmest  integrity. 

8  Hark  I  comes  there  from  the  pyramids 

And  from  Siberian  wastes  of  snow 
And  Europe's  hiUs ;  a  voice  that  bids 
The  world  be  awed  to  mourn  him  ?    No.    Pierpont. 

Note  I. — When  the  direct  question  becomes  an  appeal, 
and  the  reply  to  it  is  anticipated,  it  takes  the  mi^n^Q  falling 
inflection. 

EXAMPLES. 

1.  "William,  did  vfe  not  recite  our  lessons  correctly  ? 

2.  Can  a  more  inconsistent  argument  be  urged  in  its  favor  ? 

3.  Did  he  not  perform  his  part  most  ddmirably  f 

4.  Was  the  Crystal  Palace  in  New  York,  equal  in  size  to  that  in 
London  ? 

RULE    II. 
Indirect  questions,   or  those  whicli  can  not  be  an- 
swered by  yes  or  wo,  usually  take  the  falling  inflection, 
and  their  answers  the  same. 

EXAM  PLES. 

1.  How  many  lessons  have  you  learned  ?     Thr^e. 

2.  "Which  has  the  most  credit  marks  to-day  ?    JuUa. 

3.  "Where  did  your  father  go,  last  wi^ek  ?     To  Boston. 

4.  "When  do  you  expect  him  to  return  ?     Next  week. 

5.  "Who  first  discovered  America  ?    Christopher  Columbus. 

Note  L — When  the  indirect  question  is  one  asking  a  repe- 
tition  of  what  was  not,  at  first,  understood,  it  takes  the  risinp 
inflection. 

Questions. — Does  the  direct  question  ever  require  the  falling  inflec- 
tion? Give  examples.  Repeat  Rule  II.  Give  examples.  Does  the 
jidirect  question  ever  require  the  rising  inflection  ? 


28  SANDEES'     NEW     SEKIES, 


EXAMPLES. 

1.  "Where  did  you  find  those  flowers  ?    In  the  lawn. 
Where  did  you  sdy  ?     In  the  lawn. 

2.  When  did  you  say  congress  adjourned  ?    Last  week. 

Note  II. — Answers  to  questions,  whether  direct  or  indirect, 
when  expressive  of  indifference,  take  the  rising  inflection,  or 
the  circumflex. 

EXAMPLES. 

1.  Where  shall  we  go  ?    I  am  not  particular. 

2.  Shall  William  go  with  us  ?    If  he  choses. 

3.  Which  do  you  prefer  ?    I  have  no  choice. 

4.  Did  you  care  for  his  friendship  ?    Not  much. 

Note  III. — In  some  instances,  direct  questions  become  in- 
direct by  a  change  of  the  inflection  from  the  rising  to  th© 
falling. 

EXAMPLES. 

1.  Will  you  come  to-morrow  or  next  day  ?    Yes. 

2.  Will  you  come  to-morrow,  or  next  day  ?    I  will  come  to-morrow. 

Remark. — Tlie  first  question  asks  if  the  person  addressed 
will  come  within  the  two  days,  and  may  be  answered  by  yes 
or  no  ;  but  the  second  asks  on  which  of  the  two  days  he  will 
come,  and  it  can  not  be  thus  answered. 

RULE  III. 
When  questions  are  connected  by  the  conjunction 
or,  the  first  requires  the  rising^  and  tbe  second,  ihQfaU- 
ing  inflection. 

EXAMPLES. 

1.  Does  Napoleon  merit  praise,  or  censure  ? 

2.  Was  it  an  act  of  moral  courage,  or  cowardice,  for  Cato  to  fall  on 
his  sword  ? 

Repeat  Note  IL  How  do  direct  questions  become  indirect  ?  What 
is  Rule  III.    Give  examples. 


YOUNG     LADIES'     READER.  29 

3.  Is  it  lav,^a]  to  do  good  on  the  Sabbath  days,  or  to  do  evil  ?  to  save 
life,  or  to  kill?    BiUe. 

4  Art  thou  he  that  should  come,  or  do  we  look  for  another? 

RULE    IV. 

Antithetic  terms  or  clauses  usually  take  opposite  in- 
flections; generally,  the  former  has  i\iQ  rising ^  and  the 
latter  the  falling  inflection. 

EXAMPLES. 

1.  It  appears  more  like  a  dream  than  real  life ;  more  like  a  romance 
than  a  dreadful  reality. 

2.  By  honor  and  dishonor,  by  evil  report  and  good  report ;  as  deceiv- 
ers, and  yet  true;  as  unknown,  and  yet  well  known  ;  as  dying,  and  be- 
hold, we  live;  as  chastened,  and  not  kUled;  as  sorrowful,  yet  always 
rejoicing ;  as  poor,  yet  making  many  rich ;  as  having  nothing,  yet  pos- 
sessing all  things.     BiUe. 

Note  I. — When  one  of  the  antithetic  clauses  is  a  negative^ 
and  the  other  an  affirmative,  generally  the  negative  has  the 
risi7iffj  and  the  affirmative  the  falling  inflection. 

EXAMPLES. 

1.  Aim  not  to  show  knowledge,  but  to  acquire  It. 

2.  Let  another  man  praise  tliee,  and  not  thine  own  mouth ;  a  stranger, 
md  not  thine  own  lips. 

3.  You  should  not  say  goverment,  but  government. 

4.  Show  your  courage  by  your  deeds,  not  by  your  words, 

RULE    Y. 

The  Pause  of  Suspension,  denoting  that  the  sense  is 
incomplete,  usually  has  the  rising  inflection. 

EXAMPLES. 
1.  Sir,  I  implore  gentlemen,  I  adjure  them  by  all  they  hold  dear  m 
this  world,  by  all  their  love  of  liberty,  by  all  their  veneration  for  their 

Repeat  Rule  IV.  Give  examples.  Repeat  Note  I.,  and  examplea. 
Repeat  Rule  V.,  and  examples. 


80  SANDERS'     NEW     SERIES. 

dncesto  "s,  by  all  their  regard  for  posterity,  by  all  their  gratitude  to  Him 
•who  has  bestowed  on  them  such  unnumbered  and  countless  blessings, 
by  all  the  duties  which  they  owe  to  mankind,  and  by  all  the  duties 
which  they  owe  to  themselves,  to  pause,  solemnly  pause  at  the  edge  of 
the  precipice,  before  the  fearful  and  dangerous  leap  is  taken  into  the 
yawning  abyss  below,  from  which  none  who  ever  take  it,  shall  return 
in  safety 

Note  I. — The  ordinary  direct  address,  not  accompaniea 
with  strong  emphasis,  takes  the  rising  inflection,  on  the  prin- 
ciple of  the  pause  of  suspension. 

EXAMPLES. 

1.  Te  men  of  Judea,  and  all  ye  that  dwell  in  Jerusalem,  be  this  known 
unto  you,  and  hearken  to  ray  words.     Bible. 

2.  Fight,  gentlemen  of  E'ngland!  fight,  bold  yeoman  I 
Draw,  archers,  draw  your  arrows  to  the  head. 

Note  II. — In  some  instances  of  a  pause  of  suspension,  the 
sense  requires  an  intense  fallinff  inflection. 

EXAMPLES. 

1.  The  prodigal,  if  he  does  not  become  a,  pauper,  will,  at  least,  have  but 
little  to  bestow  on  others. 

Eemark. — If  the  rising  inflection  is  given  on  pauper,  the 
sense  would  be  perverted,  and  the  passage  made  to  mean, 
that,  in  order  to  be  able  to  bestow  on  others,  it  is  necessary 
that  he  should  become  a  pauper. 

RULE    VI. 
Expressions  of  tenderness,  as  of  grief,  or  kindness, 
commonly  incline  the  voice  to  the  rising  inflection. 

examples. 
1.  0  my  son  Ab'saloml  my  son,  my  son  Ab'saloml     "Would  God  I 
had  died  for  thee,  Ab'salom,  my  son,  my  son  I     Bible. 

Note  I.,  and  ezamplea.     Repeat  Note  IL,  and  example.    Rule  VI.. 
and  example. 


YOUNG     LADIES'  READER.  SI 

RULE    VTI. 

The  Penultimate  Pause,  or  the  last  but  one,  of  a  pas- 
sage, is  usually  preceded  by  the  rising  inflection. 

EXAMPLES. 

1.  The  changing  seasons  declare  the  knowledge,  power,  wiadorn,  and 
goodness  of  God. 

2.  When  the  savage  provides  himself  with  a  hut  or  a  wigwam  for 
shelter,  or  that  he  may  store  up  his  provisions,  he  does  no  more  than  is 
done  by  the  rabbit,  the  braver,  the  bee,  and  birds  of  every  species. 

Remark. — The  rising  inflection  is  employed  at  the  penulti- 
mate pause  in  order  to  promote  variety,  since  the  voice  gene- 
rally falls  at  the  end  of  a  sentence. 

RULE    VIII. 
Expressions  of  strong  emotion,  as  of  anger  or  sur- 
prise, and  also  the  language  of  authority  and  reproach, 
are  expressed  with  the  falling  inflection. 

examples. 

1  Strike  for  your  homes  and  liberty, 

And  the  Heavens  you  worship  o'er  you ! 

2.  0  Fools  1  and  slow  of  heart  to  believe  all  that  the  prophets  have 
written  concerning  vah  1     Bible. 

3.  Hush  !  breathe  it  not  aloud, 
The  wild  winds  must  not  hear  it  1     Yet,  again, 
I  tell  thee — we  are  frke  ! 

4.  Arise !  shine !  for  thy  light  is  come,  and  the  glory  of  the  Lord  is 
risen  upon  thee.    Bille. 

RULE    IX. 

An  emphatic  succession  of  particulars,  and  emphatic 
repetition,  require  the /aZ/m^' inflection. 

Rule  VII.,  and  examples.  Rule  VIIL,  and  examples.  Repeat 
}'  lie  IX. 


SANDERS'     NEW     SERIES. 


EXAMPLES. 

1.  Iliul,  holy  light  1  offspring  of  Heaven  firstborn, 
Or  of  the  eternal,  co-eternal  beam. 

2.  The  tear, 
Tlie  groan,  the  knMl,  the  pull,  the  bier, 
And  all  we  know,  or  dream,  or  fear 
Of  agony,  are  thine. 

Remark. — The  stress  of  voice  on  each  successive  particular, 
or  repetition,  should  gradually  be  increased  as  the  subject 
advances. 

The  Circumflex  is  a  union  of  the  two  inflections  on 
the  same  word,  beginning  either  with  the  falling  and 
ending  with  the  rising,  or  with  tbe  rising  and  ending 

witb  the  falling  ;  as,  If  he  goes  to  ^o  <i(^'^  I  shall  go  to 

RULE    I. 
The  circumflex  is  mainly  employed  in  the  language 
of  irony,  and  in  expressing  ideas  implying  some  con- 
dition, either  expressed  or  understood. 

EXAMPLES. 

1.  Nero  was  a  virtuous  prince  1 

2.  0,  excellent  interpreter  of  the  laws  1 

3.  Am  I  a  dog,  that  thou  comest  to  me  with  staves? 

4.  If  you  do  that,  we  will  do  this. 

5.  They  said,  too,  as  you  say:   "It  is  our  destiny." 

6.  That  power  is  used,  not  to  benefit  mankind,  but  to  crush  them. 

7.  It  has  been  said  that  this  law  is  a  measure  of  peace !  Yes ;  such 
peace  as  the  wolf  gives  to  the  lamb — the  kite  to  the  d()ve ! 

8.  They  follow  an  adventurer,  whom  they  fear,  and  obey  a  power 
which  they  hate ;  we  serve  a  monarch  whom  we  love, — a  God  whom 
we  adore. 

Questions.— What  is  the  Cu-cumflex  ?  When  is  the  circumflex  mainly 
employed?     Give  examples. 


YOUNG     LADIES'     READER 

Remark. — The  rising  inflection  and  circumflex  are  so  nearly 
allied,  that,  in  many  instances,  it  may  be  difficult  to  determine 
which  should  receive  the  preference  in  the  reading  of  a  pas- 
sage. This  is  particularly  the  case  where  intense  inflection  is 
not  required.  But  the  difference  between  the  circumjlex  and 
the  falling  inflection  is  so  obvious,  that  no  one  would  be  liable 
to  mistake  which  should  be  employed. 


SECTION  IV. 


MODULATION. 

Modulation  implies  those  variations  of  thie  voice, 
heard  in  reading  or  speaking,  which  are  prompted  by 
the  feelings  and  emotions  that  the  subject  inspires. 

EXAMPLES. 
EXPRESSIVE  OP  COURAGE    AND   CHIVALROUS   EXCITEMENT, 

Once  more  unto  the  breach,  dear  friends,  once  more. 
Or  close  the  wall  up  with  our  English  dead ! 
In  peace,  there 's  nothing  so  becomes  a  man, 
As  modest  stillness  and  humility ; 
But  when  the  blast  of  war  blows  in  our  ears, 
Then  imitate  the  action  of  the  tiger ; 
Stiffen  the  sinews,  summon  up  the  blood. 
Disguise  fair  nature  with  hard-favored  rage. 
'  On,  ON,  you  noblest  English, 
Whose  blood  is  fetched  from  fathers  of  war-proof  1 
Fathers,  that,  like  so  many  Alexanders, 
Have,  in  these  parts,  from  morn  till  even  fought, 
And  sheathed  their  swords  for  lack  of  argument 
'  I  see  you  stand  like  greyhounds  in  the  slips, 
Straining  upon  the  start.     The  game  's  afoot ; 
Follow  your  spirits,  and,  upon  this  charge, 
Cry— Heaven  for  Harry  1  England!  and  St.  GeorobI 

Shakspeare. 

Questions. — What  is  Modulation  ?    Give  an  examples 
2* 


Full 
Tone. 
Middle 
Tone. 

Short 

AND 

Quick. 
High 

AND 

Loud. 
Quick 

AND 

VERY 

Loud. 


34  SANDERS'     NEW     SERIES. 


Remark. — ^To  read  the  foregoing  example  in  one  dull,  mo- 
notonous tone  of  voice,  without  regard  to  the  sentiment  ex- 
pressed, would  render  the  passage  extremely  insipid  and  life- 
less. But  by  a  proper  modulation  of  the  voice,  it  infuses  into 
the  mind  of  the  reader  or  hearer  the  most  animating  and  ex- 
citing emotions. 

A  correct  modulation  of  the  voice  is  one  of  the  most  im- 
portant requisites  in  the  speaker.  For  if  the  voice  is  kept  for 
a  considerable  length  of  time  on  one  continuous  key  or  pitch, 
he  will  not  only  fail  to  present  that  variety  and  force  which 
the  subject  contains,  but  he  will  weary  both  himself  and  his 
hearers. 

The  voice  is  modulated  in  three  different  ways.  First^  it  is 
varied  in  Pitch;  that  is,  from  high  to  low  tones,  and  the  re- 
verse. Secondly^  it  is  varied  in  Quantity,  or  in  loudness  or 
volume  of  sound.  Thirdly,  it  is  varied  in  Quality,  or  in  the 
kind  of  sound  expressed. 

PITCH    OP   VOICE. 
Pitch  of  Voice  Las  reference  to  its  degree  of  ele- 
vation. 

Every  person,  in  reading  or  speaking,  assumes  a  certain 
pitch,  which  may  be  either  high  or  low,  according  to  circum- 
stances, and  which  has  a  governing  influence  on  the  variations 
of  the  voice,  above  and  below  it.  This  degree  of  elevation  is 
usually  called  the  Key  Note. 

As  an  exercise  in  varying  the  voice  in  pitch,  the  practice 
of  uttering  a  sentence  on  the  several  degrees  of  elevation,  as 
represented  in  the  following  scale,  will  be  found  beneficial. 
First,  utter  the  musical  syllables,  then  the  vowel  sound,  and 
lastly,  the  proposed  sentence, — ascending  and  descending. 

Questions. — In  how  many  ways  is  the  voice  modulated  ?  What  is 
meant  by  pitch  of  voice  ?  What  practice  is  recommended  for  varying 
the  pitch  of  voice  ? 


YOUNG     LADIES'     READER.  85 


do — tf — e-in-me. — Virtue  alone  surviyes.- 


7.     si    0    i  in  d^■e.      Virtue  alone  survives. 
— la — 0 — o-in-do. — Virtue   alone  survives. — 


5.     sol   #    0  in  no.      Virtue  alone  survives. 
-4. — fa — 0 — a-in-at. — Virtue  alone  survives. — 


3.     mi    1^    a  in  ate.     Virtue  alone  survives. 
— ro    0     o-in-far. — Virtue  alone  survives. — 


1.     do    1^     a  in  all.    Virtue  alone  survives. 

Although  the  voice  is  capable  of  as  many  variations  in 
speaking,  as  are  marked  on  the  musical  scale,  yet  for  all  the 
purposes  of  ordinary  elocution,  it  will  be  sufficiently  exact  if 
we  make  but  three  degrees  of  variation,  viz.,  the  Low,  the 
Middle,  and  the  High. 

1.  The  Low  Pitch  is  that  which  falls  below  the  usual 
speaking  key,  and  is  employed  in  expressing  emotions  of 
Huhlimity,  awe,  and  reverence. 

EXAMPLE.S. 

1.  It  thunders  I  Sons  of  dust  in  reverence  bow  1 
Ancient  of  Days  I  thou  speakest  from  above ; 
Almighty !     Trembling  like  a  timid  child  I 

I  hear  thy  awful  voice  1    Alarmed — afraid — 
•I  see  the  flashes  of  thy  lightning  wild, 
And  in  the  very  grave  would  hide  my  bead  I 

2.  The  Middle  Pitch  is  that  usually  employed  in  common 
conversation,  and  in  expressing  unimpassioned  thought  and 
moderate  emotion. 

examples. 

1.  When  the  sun  rises  or  sets  in  the  heavens,  when  spring  pednta  the 
earth,  when  summer  shines  in  its  glory,  when  autumn  pours  forth  its 
fruits,  or  winter  returns  in  its  awful  forms,  we  view  the  Creator  mani- 
festing himself  in  his  works. 

2.  The  verdant  lawn,  the  shady  grove,  the  variegated  landscape,  the 
boundless  ocean,  and  the  starry  heavens,  are  contemplated  with  pleas- 
ure by  every  beholder. 

Questions. — ^What  is  the  Low  Pitch,  and  when  is  it  employed?  Give 
examples.    For  what  is  the  Middle  Pitch  employed?    Examples. 


36  SANDERS'     NEW     SERIES. 

3.  The  High  Pitch  is  that  which  rises  above  the  iisnal 
speaking  key,  and  is  used  in  expressing  joyous,  arid  elevated 
feelings. 

EXAMPLES. 

1  Te  crags  and  peaks,  I  'in  with  you  once  again ! 

I  hold  to  you  the  hands  you  first  beheld, 
To  show  they  still  are  free  I     Methinks  I  hear 
A  spirit  in  your  echoes  answer  me, 
And  bid  your  tenant  welcome  to  his  home 
Again  1  Knowles, 

QUANTITY. 

Quantity  has  reference  to  fullness  and  duration  of 
sound. 

Quantity  is  two-fold ; — consisting  in  fullness  or  volume 
of  sound,  as  soft  or  loud ;  and  in  time,  as  slow  or  quick. 
The  former  has  reference  to  stress  ;  the  latter,  to  movement. 

The  degrees  of  variation  in  quantity,  are  numerous,  vary- 
ing from  a  slight,  soft  whisper,  to  a  vehement  shout.  But 
for  all  practical  purposes,  they  may  be  considered  as  three, 
the  same  as  in  pitch; — the  soft,  the  middle,  and  the  loud. 

For  exercise  in  quantity,  let  the  pupil  read  any  sentence ; 
as, 

"  Beauty  is  a  fading  flower," 

first  in  a  slight,  soft  tone,  and  then  repeat  it,  gradually  in- 
creasing in  quantity  to  the  full  extent  of  the  voice.  Also,  let 
him  read  it  first  very  slowly,  and  then  repeat  it  gradually 
increasing  the  movement.  In  doing  this,  he  should  be  careful 
not  to  vary  the  pitch. 

In  like  manner,  let  him  repeat  any  vowel  sound,  or  all  of 
them,  and  also  inversely.     Thus  : 

Question.— What  is  the  High  Pitch,  and  for  what  is  it  used?  Ex* 
Maples.    "What  is  meant  by  Quantity  ? 


yCUNG     LADIES'     EEADER.  S7 

ooooooOOOOO 
OOOOOOOOooo 

Remark. — Q'lantity  is  often  mistaken  for  Pitch.  But  it 
should  be  borne  in  mind  that  quantity  has  reference  to  loud- 
ness or  volume  of  sound,  and  pitch  to  the  elevation  or  depress- 
ion of  a  tone.  The  diiference  may  be  distinguished  by  the 
slight  and  heavy  strokes  on  a  bell  : — both  of  which  produce 
sounds  alike  m  pitch  ;  but  they  differ  in  quantity  or  loudness, 
in  proportion  as  the  strokes  are  light  or  heavy. 

RULES     FOR     QUANTITY. 

1.  Soft,  or  Subdued  Tones,  are  those  wliicli  range 
from  a  whisper  to  a  compl'ete  vocalitj,  and  are  used  to 
express  fear,  caution^  secrecy^  solemnity^  and  all  tender 
emotions. 

E  XAM  PL  ES. 

1.  The  loud  wind  dwindled  to  a  whisper  low, 
And  sighed  for  pity  as  it  answered, — "No." 

2.  Tread  softly — bow  the  head, — 

In  reverent  silence  bow, — 
No  passing  bell  doth  toll, — 
Yet  an  immortal  soul 
Is  passing  now. 

2.  A  Middle  Tone,  or  medium  loudness  of  voice, 
is  employed  in  reading  narrative^  descriptive^  or  didactic 
sentences, 

EXAMPLES. 

1.  Yice  is  a  monster  of  so  frightful  mien, 
As,  to  be  hated,  needs  but  to  be  seen ; 
But,  seen  too  oft,  familiar  with  her  face, 
We  first  endure,  then  pity,  then  embrace. 

2.  There  is  as  much  eloquence  in  the  tone  of  voice,  in  the  look,  and 
in  the  gesture  of  a  speaker,  as  in  the  choice  of  his  words. 

Questions. — What  is  the  difference  between  Quantity  and  Pitch? 
"What  are  soft,  or  s  ibdued  Tones  used  to  express  ?  Give  examples. 
For  what  is  the  Middle  Tone  employed  ?    Give  examples. 


88  SANDERS'     NEW     SERIES. 

3.  A  Loud  Tone,  or  fullness  and  stress  of  voice,  is  used  in 
expressing  violent  passions  and  vehement  emotions, 

E  X  AMPLES. 
L  And  once  again — 

Hear  me,  ye  walls,  that  echoed  to  the  tread 
Of  either  Brutus ! — once  again  I  swear, 
The  eternal  city  shall  be  free  I 
2.  On  whom  do  the  maledictions  fall,  usually  pronounced  in  our  as- 
semblies ?    Is  it  not  on  this  man  ?    Can  you  point  to  a  more  enormous 
instance  of  iniquity  in  any  speaker,  than  this  inconsistency  between  hia 
words  and  actions. 

QUALITY. 

Quality  has  reference  to  the  hind  of  sound  uttered. 

Two  sounds  may  be  alike  in  quantity  and  pitch,  yet  differ 
in  quality.  The  sounds  produfced  on  the  clarinet  and  flute, 
may  agree  in  pitch  and  quantity,  yet  be  very  unlike  in  qual- 
ity. The  same  is  often  true  in  regard  to  the  tones  of  the 
voice  of  two  individuals.  This  difference  is  occasioned 
mainly  by  the  different  positions  of  the  vocal  organs. 

The  qualities  of  voice  mostly  used  in  reading  or  speaking, 
and  which  should  receive  the  highest  degree  of  culture,  are 
the  Pure  Tone,  the  Orotund,  the  Aspirated,  and  the  Guttural, 

RULES     FOR     QUALITY. 

1.  The  Pure  Tone  is  a  clear,  smooth,  sonorous  flow 
of  sound,  usually  accompanied  with  the  middle  pitch  of 
voice,  and  is  adapted  to  express  emotions  oijoy,  cheer' 
fulnesSy  lovCj  and  tranquillity. 

EXAMPLES. 

1.         There  is  joy  in  the  mountain — the  bright  waves  leap 
Like  a  bounding  stag  when  he  breaks  from  sleep  ; 
Mirthfully,  wildly  they  flash  along — 
Let  the  heavens  ring  with  song  1 

Questions. — For  what  is  the  Loud  Tone  used?  Give  examples. 
What  is  meant  by  Quality  ?  What  qualities  of  voice  should  ~ceive  the 
highest  degree  of  culture  ?    "What  is  said  of  the.  Pure  Tone  ? 


YOUNa     LADIES'     READER.  89 

2.  The  Orotund  is  a  full,  deep,  round,  and  pure  tone 
of  voice,  peculiarly  adapted  to  the  expression  of  swWime 
and  pailieiic  emotions. 

EXAMPLES. 

1.         'Tis  midnight's  holy  hour — and  silence  now 
Is  brooding  like  a  gentle  spirit  o'er 
The  still  and  pulseless  world.     Hark  1  on  the  winds 
The  bell's  deep  tones  are  swelling, — 'tis  the  knell 
Of  the  departed  year  1 

3.  The  Aspirated  Tone  of  voice  is  not  a  pure,  vocal 
?ound,  but  rather  a  forcible  breathing  utterance,  and  is 
used  to  express  amazement^  fear^  terror^  anger^  revenge^ 
remorse^  and  fervent  emotions. 

EXAMPLES. 

1.  Oh,  coward  conscience,  how  dost  thou  affright  me  1 
The  lights  burn  blue.     It  is  now  dead  midnight ; 
Cold,  fearful  drops  stand  on  my  trembling  flesh. 

2.  For  this,  of  all  their  wrongs  the  worst 
Great  Spirit,  let  them  be  accursed. 

4.  The  Guttural  Quality  is  a  deep,  aspirated  tone 
of  voice,  used  to  express  aversion,  fiatred,  loathing^  and 
contempt. 

EXAMPLES. 

1.  Thou  worm  I  thou  viper !  to  thy  native  earth 
Return  I  Away  I  Thou  art  too  base  for  man 
To  tread  upon  1     Thou  scum  1     Thou  reptile ! 

2.  Tell  me  I  hate  the  bowl  ? 

Hate  is  a  feeble  word : 
I  loathe,  abhor,  my  very  soul 

With  strong  disgust  is  stirred, 
Whene'er  I  see,  or  hear,  or  tell. 
Of  the  dark  beverage  of  hell ! 

Questions. — ^What,  of  the  Orotund  voice  ?  Give  an  example  of  the 
Orotund  voice.  Describe  the  Aspirated  Tone  of  voice.  What  is  it  u»sd 
to  express?  Give  examples.  What  is  said  of  the  Guttural  Quality? 
Give  examples. 


■^, 


40  SANDERS'     NEW     SERIES. 

Remark. — Whenever  a  habit  of  reading  or  speaking  in  a 
nasal,  shrilly  harsh,  or  romjh  tone  of  voice  is  contracted  by 
the  pupil,  no  pains  should  be  spared  in  eradicating  it,  and  in 
securing  a  clear,  full,  round,  and  flexible  tone. 

NOTATION    IN     MODULATION. 

(  '^  )  high.  (  p.  )  soft. 

(  °°)  high  and  loud.  {PP-)  very  soft. 

(  c  )  low.  (  /  )  loud. 

(  oo)  low  and  loud.  ^ff-)  very  loud. 

(=)  quick.  (  2?^.  )  plaintive. 

(  "  )  short  and  quick.  (  <  )  increase. 

(si.)  slow.  (  >  )  decrease. 

EXAMPLES  FOR  EXERCISE  IN  MODULATIOK. 

{p.)       Soft  is  the  strain  when  zephyr  gently  blows, 

And  the  smooth  stream  in  smoother  numbers  flows ; 

(/.)         But  when  loud  surges  lash  the  sounding  shore, 

The  hoarse  rough  verse  should  like  the  torrent  roar. 

(ffZ.)        When  Ajax  strives  some  rocks  vast  weight  to  throw, 
The  line,  too,  labors,  and  the  words  move  slow ; 

(=)        Not  so,  when  swift  Camilla  scours  the  plain. 

Flies  o'er  the  unbending  corn,  and  skims  along  the  mtun. 

(9^)  Quick  1     Man  the  boat !    Away  they  spring 

The  stranger  ship  to  aid. 
And  loud  their  hailing  voices  ring, 
As  rapid  speed  they  made. 

(^)  All  dead  and  silent  was  the  earth, 

In  deepest  night  it  lay ; 
The  Eternal  spoke  Creation's  word, 
And  called  to  being — Day  I 
(=:)  It  streamed  fi'om  on  high, 

All  reddening  and  bright, 
And  angel's  song  welcomed 
The  new-bom  light 


YOUNG     LADIES'     EEADER.  41 


(00)  Strilce — till  the  last  armed  foe  expires  I 

Strilce — for  vour  a]  tars  and  your  fires  1 
Strike — for  tlie  green  graves  of  your  sires  I 
God,  and  your  native  land  I         HaUech. 

{si.)  Lon;?  years  have  passed, — and  I  behold 

My  father's  elms  and  mansions  old, — 
The  brook's  bright  wave ; 
{pi.)  But.  ah  1  the  scenes  which  fancy  drew, 

Deceived  my  heart, — the  friends  I  knew, 

Are  sleeping  now  beneath  the  yew, — 
(o)  Low  in  the  grave.  Eesp. 

( < )  Shall  man,  the  possessor  of  so  many  noble  faculties,  with  all  the 
benefits  of  learnir  g  and  experience,  have  less  memory,  less  gratitude, 
less  sensibility  to  danger  than  the  beasts  I  ( < )  ShaU  man,  bearing 
the  image  of  his  Creator,  sink  thus  low  ? 

Thomas  K  Benton. 

(>)  The  thunders  hushed, — 

The  trembling  lightning  fled  away  in  fear, — 

(p.)  The  fo.'ira-capt  surges  sunk  to  quiet  rest, — 

The  raging  winds  grew  still, — 

(pp.)  There  was  a  calm  1 

(  "  )  Hark !  a  brazen  voice 

Swells  from  the  valley,  like  the  clarion 

That  calL<;  to  battle.     Skirting  all  the  hills, 
(  =  )        Speeds  tie  blithe  tone,  and  wakes  an  answer  up 

In  rock  a  ad  forest,  till  the  vale  hath  talked 

With  all  .ts  tongues,  and  in  the  fastnesses 

Of  the  far  dingle,  (p.)  faint  and  (pp.)  fainter  heard, 
( > )         Dies  the  last  sullen  echo. 

He  said,  .nnd  on  the  rampart  hights  arrayed 

His  trust/  warriors,  few,  but  undismayed  ; 
(si.)  Firm-pac'id  and  slow,  a  horrid  front  they  form, 

(pp.)        Still  as  tl  e  breeze,  (oo)  but  dreadful  as  the  storm  I 
(po-)        Low,  muimurinjif  sounds  along  their  banners  fly, 
{ff.)  Revenge  or  death  ! — the  watchword  and  reply; 

(°o)  Then  pealsd  tlie  notea,  omnipotent  to  charm, 

(/.)  And  the  loud  tocsin  tolled  their  last  alarm  1  Campbell, 


45  SANDERS'     NEW     SERIES. 

( // )  Ifo !  sound  the  tocain  from  the  tower, — 

And  tire  the  culverin, — 
Bid  each  retainer  arm  with  speed, — 
Call  every  vassal  in. 
(oo)  Up  with  my  banner  on  the  wall, — 

The  banquet  board  prepare, — 
Throw  wide  the  portal  of  my  hall, 
And  bring  my  armor  there  1        A.  G.  Greem. 

(°«>)  The  combat  deepens !     On  !  ye  brave  I 

"Who  rush  to  glory,  or  the  grave  1 
iff.)  Wave,  Munich,  all  thy  banners  wave  1 

And  CHARGE  with  all  thy  Chivalry  I 
{pi.)  Ah  1  few  shall  part  where  many  meet  I 

The  snow  sliall  be  their  winding  sheet, 
And  every  turf  beneath  their  feet 

Shall  be  a  soldier's  sepulcher  I         CampbeU. 

(si)    At  length  o'er  Columbus  slow  consciousness  breaks, 

(°°)     "Land!    land  1"    cry    the    sailors;    (/.)    "landI     land  I— he 

awakes, — 
('")    He  runs, — ^yes  1  behold  it  1  it  blesseth  his  sight  I 
The  laud  1  0  dear  spectacle  1  transport!  deUght! 

(sj-)  His  speech  was  at  first  low-toned  and  slow.  Sometimes  his  voice 
would  deepen,  (oo)  like  the  sound  of  distant  thunder ;  and  anon,  {'')  his 
flashes  of  wit  and  enthusiasm  would  light  up  the  anxious  faces  of  hii 
hearers,  (<)  like  the  far-off  lightning  of  a  coming  storm. 

He  woke  to  hear  his  sentry's  shriek, 
(OO)      To  ARMS  I  they  come,  (/.)  the  Greek  !  the  GREEK  1 

(OO)      Huzza  for  the  sea !  the  all-glorious  sea  1 

Its  might  is  so  wondrous,  its  spirit  so  free ! 
C)        And  its  billows  beat  time  to  each  pulse  of  my  soul, 

Which,  impatient,  like  them,  can  not  yield  to  control. 

C)       Away !  away !  o'er  the  sheeted  ice, 
Away  !  away !  we  go ; 
On  our  steel-bound  feet  we  move  as  fleet 
As  deer  o'er  the  Lapland  snow. 


YOUNG     LADIES'     READER.  48 

SECTION    V. 

THE     RHETORICAL     PAUSE. 

Ehetorical  Pauses  axe  those  whicli  are  frequently 
required  by  the  voice  in  reading  and  speaking,  although 
the  construction  of  the  passage  admits  of  no  grammat- 
ical pause. 

These  pauses  are  as  manifest  to  the  ear,  as  those  which  are 
made  by  the  comma,  semicolon,  or  other  grammatical  pauses, 
though  not  commonly  denoted  in  like  manner  by  any  visible 
sign,     hi  the  following  examples  they  are  denoted  thus,  (  ||  ). 

EXAMPLES. 

1.   And  there  lay  the  steed|  with  his  nostril  all  wide, 

But  through  them  there  rolled|  not  the  breath  of  his  pride ; 
And  the  foam  of  his  gasping]]  lay  white  on  the  turf, 
And  cold  as  the  spray  j  of  the  rock-beaten  surf. 

This  pause  is  generally  made  before  or  after  the  utterance 
of  some  important  word  or  clause,  on  which  it  is  especially 
desired  to  fix  the  attention.  In  such  cases  it  is  usually  de- 
noted by  the  use  of  the  dash  ( — ). 

EXAMPLES. 

1.  Earth's  highest  station  ends  in — "  Here  he  lies  1" 

2.  And,  lo !  the  rose,  in  crimson  dressed, 
Leaned  sweetly  on  the  lily's  breast, 

And  blushing,  murmured — "Light!" 

3.  The  path  of  wisdom  is — the  will  op  God. 

4.  There,  in  his  dark,  carved  oaken  chair 

Old  Rudiger  sat — dead  I  A.  G.  Greene. 

Questions. — ^What  are  Rhetorical  Pauses?  What  is  said  of  thia 
pause?  Give  an  example.  "When  is  the  Rhetorical  Pause  generally 
made?    Give  examples. 


44  SANDEES'    NEW     SERIES. 


No  definite  rule  can  be  given  with  reference  to  the  length 
of  the  rhetorical,  or  grammatical  pauses.  T]ie  correct  taste 
of  the  reader  or  speaker  must  determine  it.  For  the  voice 
should  sometimes  be  suspended  much  longer  at  the  same 
pause  in  one  situation  than  in  another;  as  in  the  two  fol- 
bwing 

EXAMPLES. 
LONG  PAUSE. 

Pause  a  moment.  I  heard  a  footstep.  Listen  now.  I  heard  it  again; 
but  it  is  going  from  us.    It  sounds  fainter, — still  fainter.    It  is  gone. 

SHORT  PAUSE. 

John,  be  quick.  Get  some  water.  Throw  tho  powder  overboard. 
"  It  can  not  be  reached."  Jump  into  the  boat,  then.  Shove  oflf.  There 
goes  the  powder.     Thank  Heaven.     "We  are  safe. 

Questions. — Are  the  Rhetorical,  or  Grammatical  Pauses  alv/ays  of  the 
length  ?    Give  examples  of  a  Long  Pause.    Of  a  Short  Pause. 


REMARK  TO  TEACHERS. 
It  is  of  the  utmost  importance,  in  order  to  secure  an  easy 
and  elegant  style  of  utterance  in  reading,  to  refer  the  pupil 
often  to  the  more  important  principles  involved  in  a  just 
elocution.  To  this  end,  it  will  be  found  very  advantageous, 
occasionally  to  review  the  rules  and  directions  given  in  the 
preceding  pages,  and  thus  early  accustom  him  to  apply  them 
in  the  subsequent  reading  lessons. 


SANDERS'  YOUNG  LADIES'  READER. 


PART   SECOND. 
EXERCISES  IN  RHETORICAL  READING. 


EXERCISE  I. 


1.  Raph'-a-el,  who  is  generally  considered  the  greatest  painter  of 
modern  times,  was  born  at  Urbino,  in  Italy,  on  Good  Friday,  March 
28th,  1483.  He  died  at  Rome,  on  the  anniversary  of  his  birthday, 
at  the  early  age  of  thirty-seven  years,  having  attained  such  pro- 
ficiency in  his  art,  and  completed  so  great  a  number  of  splendid  works, 
as  to  excite  the  wonder  of  the  world. 

THE  SENSE  OF  BEAUTY. 

WnXIAU   ELLEUT   CHANNINO. 

1.  Beauty  is  an  all-pervading  presence.  It  unfolds  in  the 
numberless  flowers  of  the  spring.  It  waves  in  the  branches 
of  the  trees  and  the  green  blades  of  grass.  It  haunts  the 
depths  of  the  earth  and  sea,  and  gleams  out  in  the  hues  ol 
the  shell  and  the  precious  stone.  And  not  only  these  minute 
objects,  but  the  ocean,  the  mountains,  the  clouds,  the  heavens, 
the  stars,  the  rising  and  setting  sun,  all  overflow  with  beauty. 
The  universe  is  its  temple ;  and  those  men  who  are  alive  to 
it,  can  not  lift  their  eyes  without  feeling  themselves  encom- 
passed with  it  on  every  side. 

2.  Now,  this  beauty  is  so  precious,  the  enjoyments  it  gives 
are  so  refined  and  pure,  so  congenial  with  our  tenderest  and 
noblest  feelings,  and  so  aliin  to  worship,  that  it  is  painful  to 


46  SANDERS'     NEW     SERIES. 

think  of  the  multitude  of  men  as  living  in  the  midst  of  it, 
and  living  almost  as  blind  to  it,  as  if,  instead  of  this  fair 
earth  and  glorious  sky,  they  were  tenants  of  a  dungeon.  An 
infinite  joy  is  lost  to  the  world  by  the  want  of  culture  of  this 
spiritual  endowment. 

3.  Suppose  that  I  were  to  visit  a  cottage,  and  to  see  its 
walls  lined  with  the  choicest  pictures  of  Raphael,^  and  every 
spare  nook  filled  with  statues  of  the  most  exquisite  workman- 
ship, and  that  I  were  to  learn  that  neither  man,  woman,  nor 
child  ever  cast  an  eye  at  these  miracles  of  art,  how  should  I 
feel  their  privation !  how  should  I  want  to  open  their  eyes, 
and  to  help  them  to  comprehend  and  feel  the  loveliness  and 
grandeur  which  in  vain  courted  their  notice  ! 

4.  But  every  husbandman  is  living  in  sight  of  the  works  of 
a  diviner  Artist ;  and  how  much  would  his  existence  be  ele- 
vated, could  he  see  the  glory  which  shines  forth  in  their 
forms,  hues,  proportions,  and  moral  expression!  I  have 
spoken  only  of  the  beauty  of  nature,  but  how  much  of  this 
mysterious  charm  is  found  in  the  elegant  arts,  and  especially 
in  literature !     The  best  books  have  most  beauty. 

5.  The  greatest  truths  are  wronged  if  not  linked  with 
beauty,  and  they  win  their  way  most  surely  and  deeply  into 
the  soul,  when  arrayed  in  this,  their  natural  and  fit  attire. 
Now,  no  man  receives  the  true  culture  of  a  man,  in  whom 
the  sensibility  to  the  beautiful  is  not  cherished  ;  and  I  know 
of  no  condition  in  life  from  which  it  should  be  excluded. 

6.  Of  all  luxuries  this  is  the  cheapest  and  most  at  hand, 
and  it  seems  to  me  to  be  most  important  to  those  conditions 
where  coarse  labor  tends  to  give  a  grossness  to  the  mind. 
From  the  diffusion  of  the  sense  of  beauty  in  ancient  Greece, 
and  of  the  taste  for  music  in  modern  Germany,  we  learn  that 
the  people  at  large  may  partake  of  refined  gratifications,  which 
have  hitherto  been  thought  to  be  necessarily  restricted  to  a  few. 

Questions. — 1.  "What  are  inflections  of  the  voice?  See  page  23. 
2.  What  rule  for  the  rising  inflections  on  proportions,  4th  paragraph  ? 
ul««.  Rule  VII.,  page  81. 


YOUNG     LADIES'     READEE.  47 


EXERCISE   II. 

1,  Eo'-STA-SY,  (ec,  out  and  stasis,  a  placiv^,  or  standing,)  is  derived  from 
ft  Greek  word  signifying,  literally,  the  removal  of  a  thing  out  of  its 
place.  When  applied  to  the  mind,  it  denoted,  formerly,  a  displacing,  or 
unsettling  of  its  powers,  that  is,  madness:  thence  it  has  come  to  indi 
cate  a  sort  of  intoxication,  or  bewilderment  of  joy  ;  rapturous  delight 

2.  Can'-o-py,  (from  a  Greek  word,  meaning  a  gnat-bar,  or  mosquito- 
net  for  a  bed,  and  that  from  conops,  a  gnat,  in  the  same  language,)  sig- 
nifies, primarily,  a  curtain,  or  covering  to  keep  off  gnats  or  mosqui- 
toes from  the  face.  It  is  applied  to  any  shade  or  covering  extended 
over  the  head  ;  hence,  the  phrase,  the  canopy  of  heaven,  from  the  cur- 
tain-like appearance  of  the  heavens  above. 

THE  SPIRIT  OF  BEAUTY. 

EUFITS    DAWKS. 

1.  The  Spirit  of  Beauty  unfurls  her  light, 
And  wheels  her  course  in  a  joyous  flight ; 
I  know  her  track  through  the  balmy  air, 

By  the  blossoms  that  cluster  and  whiten  there ; 
She  leaves  the  tops  of  the  mountains  green, 
And  gems  the  valley  with  crystal  sheen. 

2.  At  morn  I  know  where  she  rested  at  night, 
For  the  roses  are  gushing  with  dewy  delight, 
Then  she  mounts  again,  and  round  her  flings 
A  shower  of  light  from  her  crimson  wings, 
Till  the  spirit  is  drunk  with  the  music  on  high. 
That  silently  fills  it  with  ecstasy.^ 

3.  At  noon  she  hies  to  a  cool  retreat. 
Where  bowering  elms  over  waters  meet ; 

She  dimples  the  wave  where  the  green  leaves  dip, 
As  it  smilingly  curls  like  a  maiden's  lip. 
When  her  tremulous  bosom  would  hide,  in  vain, 
From  her  lover,  the  hope  that  she  loves  again. 

4.  At  eve  she  hangs  o'er  the  western  sky, 
ifj;)   Dark  clouds  for  a  glorious  canopy,' 


48  SANDEKS'     NEW     SERIES'. 

And  round  the  skirts  of  their  deepen'd  fold, 
She  paints  a  border  of  purple  and  gold, 
Where  the  lingering  sunbeams  love  to  stay, 
When  their  god  in  his  glory  has  passed  away. 

5.  She  hovers  around  us  at  twilight  hour, 

When  her  presence  is  felt  with  the  deepest  power ; 
She  silvers  the  landscape  and  crowds  the  stream 
With  shadows  that  flit  like  a  fairy  dream  ; 
Then  wheeling  her  flight  through  the  gladdened  air, 
The  Spirit  of  Beauty  is  everywhere. 


EXERCISE    III. 


1.  The  German  Oceait,  or  North  Sea,  is  between  Great  Britain  and 
khe  Netherlands,  Germany,  Denmark,  and  Norway.  It  extends  from 
the  Straits  of  Dover  to  the  most  northern  of  the  Shetland  Islands : 
its  length  is  650  miles,  and  its  greatest  breadth  about  400. 

2.  Re-ckim-in-a'-tion,  (from  ke,  again,  ceimkn,  a  crime,  and  the  suf- 
fix ATiON,  the  act  of  making,)  signifies  the  act  of  making,  or  charging, 
crime  again ;  that  is,  the  act  of  retorting  criminal  accusations. 

3.  Prov'-i-dence  is  from  pro,  before,  vid,  (Latin  video,)  to  see,  and  the 
suffix  ENCE,  which  latter  means  the  act,  or  state  of.  Hence,  Providence 
signifaes,  literally,  the  act  of  seeing,  or  seeing  to,  beforehand;  foresight ; 
forecast,  and,  when  applied  to  the  Divine  Being,  points  to  that  attri- 
bute, whereby  all  things  are  known  ftrom  the  beginning,  and  carefully 
provided  for. 

4.  Con-jur'-ed,  is  made  up  of  con,  together,  jtje,  (Latin  juro,)  to 
swear,  and  the  suffix  ed,  which  means  did :  the  literal  meaning  of  the 
whole  being  did  swear  together  ;  that  is,  did  join,  or  unite  under  the 
solemnity  of  an  oath.  The  word  was  used  in  relation  to  plots  and 
conspiracies,  but  it  also  had  the  kindred  sense  of  urging,  as  with  the 
solemnity  of  an  oath,  which  is  the  signification  in  the  following 
piece.  With  the  accent  on  the  first  syllable,  (con'-jure,)  the  word  sig- 
nifies to  practice  witchcraft,  or  enchantment 


YOUKG     LADIES'     HEADER.  49 


SABINUS  AND  OLINDA. 

OLIVER   GOLDSMrrn. 

1.  In  a  fair,  rich,  and  flourishing  country,  whose  cliffs  are 
washed  by  the  German  Ocean,'  lived  Sabinus,  a  youth  formed 
by  nature  to  make  a  conquest  wherever  he  thought  proper ; 
but  the  constancy  of  his  disposition  fixed  him  only  with  Olin- 
da.  He  was,  indeed,  superior  to  her  in  fortune ;  but  that 
defect  on  her  side  was  so  amply  supplied  by  her  merit,  that 
none  was  thought  more  worthy  of  his  regards  than  she.  He 
loved  her,  he  was  beloved  by  her ;  and,  in  a  short  time,  by 
joining  hands  publicly,  they  avowed  the  union  of  their  hearts. 

2.  But,  alas !  none,  however  fortunate,  however  happy,  are 
exempt  from  the  shafts  of  envy,  and  the  malignant  effects  ot 
ungoverrred  appetite.  How  unsafe,  how  detestable  are  they 
who  have  this  fury  for  their  guide !  How  certainly  will  it 
lead  them  from  themselves,  and  plunge  them  in  errors  they 
would  have  shuddered  at,  even  in  apprehension ! 

3.  Ariana,  a  lady  of  many  amiable  qualities,  very  nearly 
allied  to  Sabinus,  and  highly  esteemed  by  him,  imagined  her- 
self slighted,  and  injuriously  treated,  since  his  marriage,  with 
Olinda.  By  incautiously  suffering  this  jealousy  to  corrode  in 
her  breast,  she  began  to  give  a  loose  to  passion ;  she  forgot 
those  many  virtues  for  which  she  had  been  so  long  and  so 
justly  applauded. 

4.  Causeless  suspicion  and  mistaken  resentment  betrayed 
her  into  all  the  gloom  of  discontent :  she  sighed  without 
ceasing  ;  the  happiness  of  others  gave  her  intolerable  pain  ; 
she  thought  of  nothing  but  revenge.  How  unlike  what  she 
was,  the  cheerful,  the  prudent,  the  compassionate  Ariana! 
She  continually  labored  to  disturb  a  union  so  firmly,  so  affec- 
tionately founded,  and  planned  every  scheme  which  she  thought 
most  likely  to  disturb  it. 

5.  Fortune  seemed  willing  to  promote  her  unjust  inten- 
tions. The  circumstances  of  Sabinus  had  long  been  embar- 
msffed  by  a  tediguis  lawsuit,  and,  the  cpyrt  deterimning  llio 


50  SANDERS'     NEW     SERIES. 


cause  unexpectedly  in  favor  of  his  opponent,  it  sunk  his  for- 
tune  to  the  lowest  pitch  of  penury  from  the  highest  aflluence. 
From  the  nearness  of  relationship,  Sabinus  expected  from 
Ariana  those  assistances  his  present  .situation  required  ;  but 
she  was  insensibre  to  all  his  entreaties,  and  the  justice  of 
every  remonstrance,  unless  he  first  separated  from  Olinda, 
whom  she  regarded  with  detestation. 

6.  Upon  a  compliance  with  her  desires  in  this  respect,  she 
promised  that  her  fortune,  her  interest,  and  her  all,  should  be 
at  his  command.  Sabinus  was  shocked  at  the  proposal ;  he 
loved  his  wife  with  inexpressible  tenderness,  and  refused  those 
offers  with  indignation,  ^vhich  were  to  be  purchased  at  so  high 
a  price.  Ariana  was  no  less  displeased  to  find  her  oifers  re- 
jected, and  gave  a  loose  to  all  that  warmth  which  she  had  long 
endeavored  to  suppress.  Reproach  generall}'  produces  re- 
crimination ;'  the  quarrel  rose  to  such  a  hight,  that  Sabinus 
was  marked  for  destruction,  and  the  very  next  day,  upon  the 
strength  of  an  old  family  debt,  he  was  sent  to  jail,  with  none 
but  Olinda  to  comfort  him  in  his  miseries. 

7.  In  this  mansion  of  distress  they  lived  together  with 
resignation  and  even  with  comfort.  She  provided  the  frugal 
meal,  and  he  read  to  her  while  employed  in  the  little  offices 
of  domestic  concern.  Their  fellow-prisoners  admired  their 
contentment,  and,  whenever  they  had  a  desire  of  relaxing 
into  mirth,  and  enjoying  those  little  comforts  that  a  prison  af- 
fords,  Sabinus  and  Olinda  were  sure  to  be  of  the  party. 

8.  Instead  of  reproaching  each  other  for  their  mutual 
wretchedness,  they  both  lightened  it  by  bearing  each  a  share 
of  the  load  imposed,  by  Providence.'  Whenever  Sabinus 
showed  the  least  concern  on  his  dear  partner's  account,  she 
conjured*  him  by  the  love  he  bore  her,  by  those  tender  ties 
which  now  united  them  forever,  not  to  discompose  himself; 
that  so  long  as  his  affection  lasted,  she  defied  all  the  ills  of 
fortune,  and  every  loss  of  fame  or  friendship ;  that  nothing 
could  make  her  miserable  but  his  seeming  to  want  happiness, 
nothing  pleased,  but  his  sympathizing  with  her  pleasure. 


YOUNG     LADIES'     HEADER.  t)l 


9.  A  continuance  in  prison  soon  robbed  them  of  the  little 
they  had  left,  and  famine  began  to  make  its  horrid  appearance, 
yet  still  was  neither  found  to  murmur ;  they  both  looked 
upon  their  little  boy,  who,  insensible  of  thek  or  his  own  dis- 
tress, was  playing  about  the  room,  withSSiexpressible,  yet 
silent  anguish,  when  a  messenger  came  to  inform  them,  that 
Ariana  was  dead,  and  that  her  will,  in  favor  of  a  very  distant 
relation,  who  was'  now  in  another  country,  might  easily  be 
procured  and  burned,  in  which  case  all  her  large  fortune  would 
/evert  to  him,  as  being  the  next  heir  at  law. 

10.  A  proposal  of  so  base  a  nature  filled  our  unhappy 
couple  with  horror  ;  they  ordered  the  messenger  immediately 
out  of  the  room,  and  falling  upon  each  other's  neck,  indulged 
an  agony  of  sorrow,  for  now  even  all  hopes  of  relief  were 
banished.  The  messenger  who  made  the  proposal,  however, 
was  only  a  spy  sent  by  Ariana  to  sound  the  dispositions  of  a 
man  she  loved  at  once  and  persecuted. 

11.  This  lady,  though  warped  by  wrong  passions,  was  nat- 
urally kind,  judicious,  and  friendly.  She  found  that  all  her 
attempts  to  shake  the  constancy  or  the  integrity  of  Sabinus, 
were  ineffectual ;  she  had,  therefore,  begun  to  reflect,  and  to 
wonder  how  she  could  so  long  and  so  unprovoked  injure  such 
uncommon  fortitude  and  affection. 

12.  She  had,  from  the  next  room,  herself  heard  the  recep- 
tion given  to  the  messenger,  and  could  not  avoid  feeling  all 
the  force  of  superior  virtue ;  she,  therefore,  re-assumed  her 
former  goodness  of  heart ;  she  came  into  the  room  with  tears 
in  her  eyes,  and  acknowle'Jged  the  ^severity  of  her  former 
treatment.  She  bestowed  the  firs^,  care  in  providing  them  all 
the  necessary  supplies,  and  acknowledged  them  as  the  most 
deserving  heirs  of  her  fortune. 

13.  From  this  moment,  Sabinus  enjoyed  an  uninterrupted 
happiness  with  Olinda,  and  both  were  happy  in  the  friendship 
and  assistance  of  Ariana ;  who,  dying  soon  after,  left  them 
in  possession  of  a  large  estate,  and,  in  her  last  moments, 
confessed    that   virtue   was   the   only  path   to  true  glory, 


02  SENDEES'     NEW     SERIES. 

and  that,  however  innocence  may  for  a  time  be  depressed,  a 
steady  perseverance  will,  in  tina^,  lead  it  to  a  certain  vic- 
tory. 


EXERCISE    IV 


1.  Hol'-i-dat,  (that  is,  holy  day,)  is,  literally,  a  holy  day,  or  day 
set  apart  to  sacred  uses  ;  hence  it  came  to  indicate  a  day  of  exemp- 
tion from  ordinary  labors  or  occupation,  and  thence,  also,  a  day  of 
joy  and  festivity  or  amusement.     It  is  often  written  holyday, 

2.  Sir  Francis  Bacon,  Baron  of  Verulam,  was  born  at  London  in 
1561,  and  died  in  1626.  He  is  celebrated  as  a  great  reformer  of  phi- 
losophy, or,  rather,  of  the  modes  of  conducting  philosophical  inquiries. 

8.  O-lym'-pi-an  vicrons,  that  is,  victors  in  the  Olympic  games,  which 
were  celebrated  every  fifth  year  at  Olympia,  a  sacred  spot  on  the 
banks  of  the  Alpheus,  near  Elis  in  ancient  Greece. 

THE  PEOPER  EDUCATION  FOR  FEMALES. 

HANNAH  MORS. 

1.  Since  there  is  a  season  when  the  youthful  must  cease  to 
be  young,  and  the  beautiful  to  excite  admiration  ;  to  learn 
how  to  grow  old  gracefully  is,  perhaps,  one  of  the  rarest  and 
most  valuable  arts  which  can  be  taught  to  woman.  And,  it 
must  be  confessed,  it  is  a  most  severe  trial  for  those  women 
to  be  called  to  lay  down  beauty,  who  have  nothing  else  to 
take  up.  It  is  for  this  sober  season  of  life  that  education 
should  lay  up  its  rich  resources.  However  disregarded  they 
may  hitherto  have  been,  they  will  be  wanted  now. 

2.  When  admirers  fall  away,  and  flatterers  become  mute, 
the  mind  will  be  compelled  to  retire  into  itself;  and,  if  it 
find  no  entertainment  at  home,  it  will  be  driven  back  again 
upon  the  world  with  increased  force.  Yet,  forgetting  this,  do 
we  not  seem  to  educate  our  daughters  exclusively  for  the 
transient  period  of  youth,  when  it  is  to  maturer  life  we  ought 
to  advert  1  Do  we  not  educate  them  for  a  crowd,  forgetting 
that  they  are  to  live  at  h6me1  for  the  wiSrld,  and  not  iwr 


YOUNG     LADIES'    EEADER.  58 


themselves  1  for  show,  and  not  for  use  1  for  time,  and  not  for 
eternity  ? 

3.  Not  a  few  of  the  evils  of  the  present  day  arise  from  a 
new  and  perverted  application  of  terms ;  among  these,  per- 
haps, there  is  not  one  more  abused,  misunderstood,  or  misap- 
plied, than  the  term  accomplishments.  This  word,  in  its  orig- 
inal meaning,  signifies  completeness,  perfection.  But  I  may 
safely  appeal  to  the  observation  of  mankind,  whether  they  do 
not  meet  with  swarms  of  youthful  females,  issuing  from  our 
boarding-schools,  as  well  as  emerging  from  the  more  private 
scenes  of  domestic  education,  who  are  introduced  into  the 
world  under  the  broad  and  universal  title  of  accomplished 
young  ladies,  of  all  of  whom  it  can  not  very  truly  and  cor- 
rectly be  pronounced,  that  they  illustrate  the  definition  by  a 
completeness  which  leaves  nothing  to  be  added,  and  a  perfec- 
tion which  leaves  nothing  to  be  desired. 

4.  It  would  be  well,  if  we  would  reflect,  that  we  have  to 
educate  not  only  rational,  but  accountable  beings ;  and,  re- 
membering this,  should  we  not  be  solicitous  to  let  our  daugh- 
ters learn  of  the  well-taught,  and  associate  with  the  well- 
bred  1  In  training  them,  should  we  not  carefully  cultivate 
intellect,  implant  religion,  and  cherish  modesty  ?  Then, 
whatever  is  engaging  in  manners,  would  be  the  natural  result 
of  whatever  is  just  in  sentiment  and  correct  in  principle ; 
softness  would  grow  out  of  humility,  and  external  delicacy 
would  spring  from  purity  of  heart.  Then  the  decorums,  the 
proprieties,  the  elegancies,  and  even  the  graces,  as  far  as  they 
are  simple,  pure,  and  honest,  would  follow  as  an  almost  in- 
evitable consequence  ;  for  to  follow  in  the  train  of  the  Chris- 
tian virtues,  and  not  to  take  the  lead  of  them,  is  the  proper 
place  which  religion  assigns  to  the  graces. 

5.  Whether  we  have  made  the  best  use  of  the  errors  of  our 
predecessors,  and  of  our  own  numberless  advantages,  and 
whether  the  prevailing  system  be  really  consistent  with  soimd 
policy,  true  taste,  or  Christian  principle,  it  may  be  worth  c  ur 
while  to  inquire. 


Oi  Sii  KDEES»  NEW    SERIES. 


6.  Would  not  a  stranger  be  led  to  imagine,  by  a  view  of 
the  reigning  mode  of  female  education,  that  human  life  con- 
sisted of  one  universal  holiday,'  and  that  the  grand  contest 
between  the  several  competitors  was,  who  should  be  most 
eminently  qualiflr  to  excel  and  carry  off  the  prize,  in  the 
various  shows  and  games  which  were  intended  to  be  exhib 
ited  in  it'?  and  to  the  exhibitors  themselves,  would  he  not  be 
ready  to  apply  Sir  Francis  Bacon's^  observation  on  the 
Olympian '  victors,  that  they  were  so  excellent  in  these  un- 
necessary things,  that  their  perfection  must  needs  have  been 
acquired  by  the  neglect  of  whatever  was  necessary  1 

7.  It  will  be  prudent  to  reflect,  that  in  all  polished  coun- 
tries an  entire  devotedness  to  the  fine  arts  has  been  one  grand 
source  of  the  corruption  of  the  women ;  and  so  justly  were 
these  pernicious  consequences  appreciated  by  the  Greeks, 
among  whom  these  arts  were  carried  to  the  highest  possible 
perfection,  that  they  seldom  allowed  them  to  be  cultivated  to 
a  very  exquisite  degree  by  women  of  great  purity  of  charac- 
ter. And,  while  corruption,  brought  on  by  an  excessive  culti- 
vation of  the  arts,  has  contributed  its  full  share  to  the  decline 
of  states,  it  has  always  furnished  an  infallible  symptom  of 
their  impending  fall. 

8.  The  satires  of  the  most  penetrating  and  judicious  of  the 
Roman  poets,  corroborating  the  testimonies  of  the  most  accu- 
rate of  their  historians,  abound  with  invectives  against  the 
general  depravity  of  manners  introduced  by  the  corrupt  hab- 
its of  female  education,  so  that  the  modesty  of  the  Roman 
matron,  and  the  chaste  demeanor  of  her  virgin  daughters, 
which,  amidst  the  stern  virtues  of  the  state,  were  as  immar^u- 
late  and  pure  as  the  honor  of  the  Roman  citizen,  fell  a  sacri 
fice  to  the  luxurious  dissipation  brought  in  by  their  Asiatic 
conquest ;  after  which,  the  females  were  soon  taught  a  com- 
plete change  of  character. 

9.  They  were  instructed  to  accommodate^  their  talents  of 
pleasing  to  the  more  vitiated  tastes  of  the  other  sex ;  and  be- 
gan to  study  every  grace  and  every  art  which  might  captivate 


YOUNG     LADIES'  READER.  65 

the  exhausted  hearts,  and  excite  the  wearied  and  capricious 
inclinations,  of  the  men  ;  till,  by  a  rapid  and,  at  lengtn,  com- 
plete enervation,  the  Roman  character  lost  its  signature,  and 
through  a  quick  succession  of  slavery,  effeminacy,  and  vice, 
sunk  into  that  degeneracy  of  which  some  of  the  modern. Ital- 
ian states  now  serve  to  furnish  a  too  just  specimen. 

Question. — 1.  What  is  the  Rule  for  the  use  of  the  inflection,  as 
marked  in  the  2d,  4th,  and  6th  paragraphs  ?     See  page  26. 


EXERCISE    V. 
I  LOVE  TO  LIVE,  AND  I  LIVE  TO  LOVE. 

I    LOVE    TO    LIVE. 

1.  ^'- 1  love  to  live,''^  said  a  prattling  boy. 

As  he  gayly  played  with  his  new-bought  toy, 
And  a  merry  laugh  went  echoing  forth, 
From  a  bosom  filled  with  joyous  mirth. 

2.  "  /  love  to  live,''^  said  a  stripling  bold, — 

"  I  will  seek  for  fame,  I  will  toil  for  gold  ;'* 
And  he  formed  in  his  pleasure  many  a  plan, 
To  be  carried  out  when  he  grew  a  man. 

3.  "  /  love  to  live,''^  said  a  lover  true, 

"  O,  gentle  maid,  I  would  live  for  you  ; 
I  have  labored  hard  in  search  of  fame, — 
I  have  found  it  but  an  empty  name." 

4.  "  /  love  to  live,^^  said  a  happy  sire, 

As  his  children  neared  the  wintry  fire ; 
For  his  heart  was  cheered  to  see  their  joy, 
And  he  almost  wished  himself  a  boy. 


56  SANDERS     NEW    SERIES. 

5.  *' / Icve  to  live"  said  an  aged  one, 

Whose  hour  of  life  was  well-nigh  run  : 
Think  you  such  words  from  him  were  wild  ? 
The  old  man  was  again  a  child. 

6.  And  ever  thus  in  this  fallen  world, 

Is  the  banner  of  hope  to  the  breeze  unfurled  ; 
And  only  with  a  hope  on'  high, 
Can  a  mortal  ever  love  to  die. 


I   LIVE    TO    LOVE. 

7.  ^^  Hive  to  love"  said  a  laughing  girl, 

And  she  playfully  tossed  each  flaxen  curl ; 
And  she  climbed  on  her  loving  father's  knee, 
And  snatched  a  kiss  in  her  childish  glee. 

8.  "  /  live  to  love"  said  a  maiden  fair, 

As  she  twined  a  wreath  for  her  sister's  hair ; 
They  were  bound  by  the  chords  of  love  together, 
And  death  alone  could  these  sisters  sever. 

9.  ^^  Hive  to  love,""  said  a  gay  young  bride. 

Her  loved  one  standing  by  her  side ; 

Her  life  told  again  what  her  lips  had  spoken, 

And  never  was  the  link  of  affection  broken. 

10.  ^^  I  live  to  love"  said  a  mother  kind, — 

"  I  would  live  a  guide  to  the  infant  mind ;" 
Her  precepts  and  example  given, 
Guided  her  children  home  to  heaven. 

11.  "I shall  live  to  love"  said  a  fading  form. 

And  her  eye  was  bright  and  her  cheek  grew  warm ; 
As  she  thought  on  the  blissful  world  on  high, 
Where  she  would  live  to  love  and  never  die. 


YOUNG    LADIES*  READER.  57 

12.  And  ever  thus  in  this  lower  world, 

Should  the  banner  of  love  be  wide  unfurled, 
And  when  we  meet  in  the  world  above, 
We  may  love  to  live  and  live  to  lovk. 


EXERCISE    VI, 
LIFE  IS  SWEET. 


1.  "0,  life  is  sweet  P^  said  a  merry  child, 
(' )        "And  I  love,  I  love  to  roam 

In  the  meadows  green,  'neath  the  sky  serene, 

O,  the  world  is  a  fairy  home  ! 
There  are  trees  hung  thick  with  blossoms  fair, 

And  flowers  gay  and  bright, 
There's  the  moon's  clear  ray,  and  the  sun-lit  day, 

O,  the  world  is  a  world  of  light !" 

2.  "  0,  life  is  sweet  /"  said  a  gallant  youth, 

As  he  conn'd  the  storied  page ; 
And  he  pondered  on  the  days  by-gone, 

And  the  fame  of  a  former  age. 
There  was  hope  in  his  bright  and  beaming  eye, 

And  he  longed  for  riper  years  ; 
He  clung  to  life, — he  dared  its  strife, — 

He  felt  nor  dread  nor  fears. 

8.  "  0,  life  is  sweet  /"  came  merrily 

From  the  lips  of  a  fair  young  bride, 
And  a  happy  smile  she  gave  the  while 

To  the  dear  one  by  her  side. 
"  O,  life  is  sweet !  for  we  will  live 

Our  constancy  to  prove ; 
Thy  sorrow  mine,  my  trials  thine, 
Our  solace  in  our  love." 
3' 


68  SENDERS'    l^-EW   SERIES. 

4.  "  0,  life  is  sweet  /"  said  a  mother  fond, 

As  she  gazed  on  her  helpless  child, 
And  she  closer  pressed  to  her  gladdened  breast 

Her  babe,  who  unconscious,  smiled. 
"  My  life  shall  be  for  thee,  my  child, 

Pure,  guiltless,  as  thou  art ; 
And  who  shall  dare  my  soul  to'tear 

From  the  tie  that  forms  a  part  1" 

5.  "  0,  life  is  sweet!"  said  an  aged  sire, 
(si.)      Whose  eye  was  sunk  and  dim  ; 

His  heart  was  bent, — ^his  strength  was  spent, — 

Could  life  be  sweet  to  him  1 
O,  yes ;  for  round  the  old  man's  chair 

His  children's  children  clung ; 
And  each  dear  face  and  warm  embrace 

Made  life  seem  very  young. 

C.      Thus  life  is  sweet,  from  early  youth 

To  weak,  enfeebled  age ; 
Love  twines  with  life,  through  care  and  strife, 

In  every  varied  stage. 
Though  rough,  perchance,  the  path  we  tread, 

And  dark  the  sky  above, 
In  every  state  there 's  something  yet, 

To  live  for  and  to  love. 

Questions. — 1.  "Why  the  falling  inflection  on  sweet,  in  each  para- 
graph? See  Rule  VIIL,  page  31.  2.  What  rule  for  the  rising  inflec- 
tion on  him,  and  the  falling  on  yes,  fifth  stanza  ?  3.  In  what  respect  do 
the  third  and  seventh  linea  of  each  stanza  difi'er  from  the  rest  ?  4. 
How,  according  to  the  notation  marks,  should  the  first  and  fifth 
stanzas  bo  read  ?    See  page  40. 


YOUNG    ladies'  HEADER.  59 


EXERCISE    VII. 
COMMON  PEOPLE. 

T.    S.   ARTHUR. 

1.  "Are  you  going  to  call  upon  Mrs.  Clayton  and  her 
daughters,  Mrs.  Marygold  1"  asked  a  neighbor,  alluding  to  a 
^mily  that  had  just  moved  into  Sycamore  Row. 

2.  "  N6,  indeed,  Mrs.  Lemmington,  that  I  am  not.  I  don't 
visit  everybody." 

3.  "  I  thought  the  Claytons  were  a  very  respectable  fami- 
ly," remarked  Mrs.  Lemmington. 

4.  "  Respectable!  Everybody  is  getting  respectable  now- 
a-days.  If  they  are  respectable,  it  is  very  lately  they  have 
become  so.  What  is  Mr.  Clayton,  I  wonder,  but  a  school- 
master !  It's  too  bad  that  such  people  will  come  crowding 
themselves  into  genteel  neighborhoods.  The  time  was,  when 
to  live  in  Sycamore  Row  was  guarantee  enough  for  any  one ; 
but  now,  all  kinds  of  people  have  come  into  it." 

5.  "  I  have  never  met  Mrs.  Clayton,"  remarked  Mrs.  Lem- 
mington ;  *'  but  I  have  been  told  that  she  is  a  most  estimable 
woman,  and  that  her  daughters  have  been  educated  with 
great  care.  Indeed,  they  are  represented  as  being  highly  ac- 
complished girls." 

6.  "  Well,  I  don't  care  what  they  are  represented  to  be. 
I  'm  not  going  to  keep  company  with  a  schoolmaster's  wife 
and  daughters  ;  that 's  certain. 

7.  "  Is  there  anything  disgraceful  in  keeping  a  school  1'* 

8.  "  No  ;  nor  in  making  shoes,  either.  But  then,  that's  no 
reason  why  I  should  keep  company  with  my  shoemaker's 
wife  ;  is  it  1  Let  common  people  associate  together, — that 's 
my  doctrine." 

9.  "  But  what  do  you  mean  by  common  people^  Mrs,  Mary- 
gold  f ' 

10.  "  Why,  I  mean  common  people,  Poor  people.  People 
who  hive  not  come  of  a  respe(^tahlefam\\v.   That 's  what  I  mean.'' 


6t)  SANDERS'  NEW    SERIES. 

11.  "I  am  not  sure  that  I  comprehend  your  explanation 
much  better  than  I  do  your  classification.  If  you  mean,  as 
you  say,  poor  people,  your  objection  will  not  apply  with  full 
force  to  the  Claytons ;  for  they  are  now  in  tolerably  easy  cir- 
cumstances. ■  As  to  the  family  of  Mr.  Clayton,  I  believe  his 
father  was  a  man  of  integrity,  though  not  rich.  And  Mrs. 
Clayton's  family  I  know  to  be  without  reproach  of  any  kind." 

12.  "  And  yet  they  are  common  people  for  all  that,"  perse- 
vered Mrs.  Marygold.  "  AVas  n't  old  Clayton  a  mere  petty 
dealer  in  small  wares.  And  was  n't  Mrs.  Clayton's  father  a 
mechanic  f 

13.  "  Perhaps,  if  some  of  us  were  to  go  back  a  generation 
or  two,  we  might  trace  out  an  ancestor  who  held  no  higher 

/place  in  society,"  Mrs.  Lemmington  remarked  quietly.     "  I 
have  no  doubt  that  /should." 
^        14.  "  I  have  no  fears  of  that  kind,"  replied  Mrs.  Marygold, 
in  an  exulting  tone.     "  I  shall  never  blush  when  my  pedigree 
is  traced." 

15.  "  Nor  I  either,  I  hope.  Still,  I  should  not  wonder,  if 
some  one  of  my  ancestors  had  disgraced  himself;  for  there 
are  but  few  families  that  are  not  cursed  with  a  spotted  sheep. 
But  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  that,  and  ask  only  to  be  judged 
by  what  I  am — not  by  what  my  progenitors  have  been." 

16.  "A  standard  that  few  will  respect,  let  me  tell  you." 

17.  "  A  standard  that  far  the  largest  portion  of  society  will 
regard  as  the  true  one,  I  hope,"  replied  Mrs.  Lemmington. 
"  But  surely,  you  do  not  intend  refusing  to  call  upon  the 
Claytons  for  the  reasons  you  have  assigned,  Mrs.  Marygold  ?" 

18.  "  Certainly  I  do.  They  are  nothing  but  common  people, 
and  therefore  beneath  me.  I  shall  not  stoop  to  associate  with 
thei-:." 

19.  "  I  think  that  I  will  call  upon  them.  In  fact,  my  object 
in  dropping  in  this  morning,  was  to  see,  if  you  would  not  ac- 
company me,"  said  Mrs.  Lemmington. 

20.  "  Indeed,  \  will  not,  and  for  the  reasons  I  have  given. 
They  are  only  common  people.     You  wili  bg  ^topping," 


YOUNG    LADIES'  HEADER.  6^ 

21.  'No  one  stoops  in  doing  a  kind  act.  Mrs.  Clayton  is 
a  stranger  in  the  neighborhood,  and  is  entitled  to  the  courtesy 
of  a  call,  if  no  more ;  and  that  I  shall  extend  to  her.  If  I 
find  her  to  be  uncongenial  in  her  tastes,  no  intimate  acquaint- 
anceship need  be  formed.  If  she  is  congenial,  I  will  add 
another  to  my  list  of  valued  friends.  You  and  I,  I  find,  esti- 
mate differently,  /judge  every  individual  by  merit,  you,  by 
family  or  descent." 

22.  "  You  can  do  as  you  please,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Marygold, 
somewhat  coldly.  "  For  my  part,  I  am  particular  about 
my  associates.  I  will  visit  Mrs.  Florence  and  Mrs.  Har- 
wood,  and  such  as  move  in  good  society,  but  as  to  your 
school-teachers'  wives  and  daughters,  I  must  beg  to  be  ex- 
cused." 

23.  "  Every  one  to  her  taste,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Lemmington, 
with  a  smile,  as  she  moved  towards  the  door  where  she  stood 
for  a  few  moments  to  utter  some  parting  compliments,  and 
then  withdrew. 

24.  Five  minutes  afterwards  she  was  shown  into  Mrs. 
Clayton's  parlors,  where,  in  a  moment  or  two,  she  was  met 
by  the  lady  upon  whom  she  had  called,  and  received  with  an 
easy  gracefulness  that  at  once  charmed  her.  A  brief  conver- 
sation convinced  her  that  Mrs.  Clayton  was,  in  intelligence 
and  moral  worth,  as  far  above  Mrs.  Marygold,  as  that  per- 
sonage imagined  herself  to  be  above  her.  Her  daughters, 
who  came  in  while  she  sat  conversing  with  their  mother, 
showed  themselves  to  possess  all  those  graces  of  mind  and 
manner  that  win  upon  our  admiration  so  irresistibly.  An 
hour  passed  quickly  and  pleasantly,  and  then  Mrs.  Lemming- 
ton  withdrew. 

25.  The  difference  between  Mrs.  Lemmington  and  Mrs. 
Marygold  was  simply  this.  The  former  had  been  familiar 
with  what  is  called  the  best  society  from*her  earliest  recollec- 
tion, and,  being,  therefore,  constantly  in  association  with  those 
looked  upon  as  the  upper  class,  knew  nothing  of  the  upstart 
self-estimation  which  is  felt  by  certain  weak,  ignqrant  f  »ersons, 


62  SANDEES»  NEW    SEKIES. 

who,  by  some  accidental  circumstance,  are  elevated  far  above 
the  condition   in  which  they  moved  originally. 

20.  She  could  estimate  true  worth  in  humble  garb  as  well 
as  in  velvet  and  rich  satins.  She  was  one  of  those  individu 
als  who  never  passed  an  old  and  worthy  domestic  in  the 
street  without  recognition,  or  stopping  to  make  some  kind  in- 
quiry— one  who  never  forgot  a  familiar  face,  or  neglected  to 
pass  a  kind  word  to  even  the  humblest  who  possessed  the 
merit  of  good  principles. 

Questions. — 1.  "What  rule  for  the  rising  inflection  on  Mrs.  Marygold, 
9th  and  lYtb  paragraphs?  See  Note  I,  page  30.  2.  What  kind  of  em- 
phasis on  /and  you,  21st  paragraph  ?  See  Note  VII ,  page  22.  3.  What 
kind  of  emphasis  on  best,  2oth  paragraph  ?    See  Note  VL,  page  21. 


EXERCISE    VIII. 


1.  Teans-fio'-ure,  (from  trans,  implying  change,  and  figurb,  a  form 
or  shape,)  is  to  change  the  form  or  figure ;  to  transform. 

2.  The  Southern  Cross  (in  Latin,  Crux  Australis)  is  a  brilliant 
little  constellation,  consisting  of  four  principal  stars,  too  far  south, 
however,  to  be  seen  by  us,  in  these  northern  regions. 

8.  The  Polar  Star  is  a  star  of  the  second  magnitude,  forming  the 
extremity  of  Ursa  Minor,  or  the  Little  Bear. 

THE  SEEN  AND  THE  UNSEEN. 

EPHRAIM   PEABODT. 

1.  Here  is  a  whaling  vessel  in  the  harbor,  her  anchors  up, 
and  her  sails  unfurled.  The  last  boat  has  left  her,  and  she  is 
now  departing  on  a  voyage  of  three,  and,  perhaps,  four  years 
in  length.  All  that  the  eye  sees  is,  that  she  is  a  fine  ship, 
and  that  it  has  cost  much  labor  to  fit  her  out.  Those  on 
boai  d  will  spend  ye#rs  of  toil,  and  will  then  return,  while  the 
profits  of  the  voyage  will  be  distributed,  as  the  case  may  be, 
to  be  squandered,  or  to  be  added  to  already  existing  hoards. 
So  much  appears.      But  there  is  an   unpublished  history, 


YOUNG    LADIES'     READER.  63 

which,  could  it  be  revealed,  and  brought  vividly  befoie  the 
mind,  would  transfigure^  her,  and  enshrine  her  in  an  almost 
awful  light. 

2.  There  ia  not  a  stick  of  timber  in  her  whole  frame,  not  a 
plank  or  a  rope,  which  is  not,  in  some  mysterious  way,  en- 
veloped with  human  interests  and  sympathies.  Let  us  trace 
this  part  of  her  history,  while  she  circles  the  globe,  and  re- 
turns to  the  harbor  from  which  she  sailed.  At  the  outset,  the 
labor  of  the  merchant,  the  carpenter,  and  of  all  employed  on 
her,  has  not  been  mere  sordid  labor.  The  thought  of  their 
homes,  of  their  children,  and  of  what  this  labor  may  secure 
for  them,  has  been  in  their  hearts. 

3.  And  they  who  sail  in  her,  leave  behind  homes,  wives, 
children,  parents ;  and,  years  before  they  return,  those  who 
are  dearest  to  them,  may  be  in  their  tombs.  What  bitter 
partings,  as  if  by  the  grave's  brink,  are  those  which  take 
place,  when  the  signal  to  unmoor  calls  them  on  board.  There 
are  among  them  young  men,  married,  perhaps,  but  a  few 
weeks  before,  and  those  of  maturer  years,  whose  young 
children  cleave  to  their  hearts  as  they  go. 

4.  How  deeply,  as  the  good  ship  sails  out  into  the  open 
feea,  is  she  freighted  with  memories  and  affections  !  Every 
eye  is  turned  toward  the  receding  coast,  as  if  the  pangs  of 
another  farewell  were'to  be  endured.  Fade  slowly,  shores 
that  encircle  their  homes !  Shine  brightly,  ye  skies,  over 
those  dear  ones  whom  they  leave  behind  ! 

5.  They  round  the  capes  of  continents,  they  traverse  every 
zone,  their  keel  crosses  every  sea ;  but  still,  brighter  than  the 
Southern  Cross''  or  the  Polar  Star,^  shines  on  their  souls  the 
light  of  their  distant  home.  In  the  calm  moonlight  rise  be- 
fore the  mariner  the  forms  of  those  whom  he  loves ;  in  the 
pauses  of  the  gale,  he  hears  the  voices  of  his  children.  Beat 
upon  by  the  tempest,  worn  down  with  labor,  he  endures  all. 
Welcome  care  and  toil,  if  these  may  bring  peace  and  happi- 
ness to  those  dear  ones  who  meet  around  his  distant  fireside ! 

6.  And  the  thoughts  of  those  in  that  home,  compassing  the 


m  SANDEES*    NEW     SERIES. 

globe,  follow  him.  wherever  he  goes.  Their  prayers  blend 
with  all  the  winds  which  swell  his  sails.  Their  affections 
hover  over  his  dreams.  Children  count  the  months  and  the 
days  of  a  father's  absence.  The  babe  learns  to  love  him,  and 
to  lisp  his  name.  Not  a  midnight  storm  strilces  their  dwell- 
ng,  but  the  wife  starts  from  her  sleep,  as  if  she  heard,  in  the 
wailing  of  the  wind,  the  sad  forebodings  of  danger  and  wreck. 
Not  a  soft  wind  blows,  but  comes  to  her  heart  as  a  gentle 
messenger  from  the  distant  seas. 

7.  And,  after  years  of  absence,  they  approach  their  native 
shores.  As  the  day  closes,  they  can  see  the  summits  of  the 
distant  highlands,  hanging  like  stationary  clouds  on  the  hori- 
zon. And  long  before  the  night  is  over,  their  sleepless  eyes 
catch  the  light  glancing  across  the  rim  of  the  seas,  from  the 
light-house  at  the  entrance  of  the  bay.  With  the  morning 
they  are  moored  in  the  harbor. 

8.  The  newspapers  announce  her  arrival.  But  here  again, 
how  little  of  her  cargo  is  of  that  material  kind  which  can  be 
reckoned  in  dollars  and  cents  !  She  is  freighted  with  human 
hearts,  with  anxieties,  and  hopes,  and  fears.  There  are  many 
there,  who  have  not  dared  to  ask  the  pilot  of  home.  The 
souls  of  many,  which  yesterday  were  full  of  joy,  are  now 
overshadowed  with  anxiety.  They  almost  hesitate  to  leave 
the  ship,  and  pause  for  some  one  from  the  shore  to  answer 
those  questions  of  home  and  of  those  they  love,  which  they 
dare  not  utter.  There  are  many  joyful  meetings,  and  some 
that  are  full  of  sorrow. 

9.  Let  us  follow  one  of  this  crew.  He  is  still  a  youth. 
Years  ago,  of  a  wild,  and  reckless,  and  roving  spirit,  he  left 
his  home.  He  had  fallen  into  temptations  which  had  been 
too  strong  for  his  feeble  virtue.  His  feet  had  been  familiar 
with  the  paths  of  sin  and  shame.  But,  during  the  present 
voyage,  sickness  and  reflection  have  "  brought  him  to  him- 
self." Full  of  remorse  for  evil  courses,  and  for  that  parental 
love  which  he  has  slighted,  he  has  said  :  "  I  will  arise  and  go  to 
my  father's  house ;"  they  who  gave  me  birth  shall  no  longer 


YOUNG     LADIES'     READER.  65 

mourn  over  me  as  lost.     I  will  smooth  the  pathway  of  age  to 
them,  and  be  the  support  of  their  feeble  steps. 

10.  He  is  on  his  way  to  where  they  dwell  in  the  country. 
As  the  sun  is  setting,  he  can  see,  from  an  eminence  over  which 
the  road  passes,  their  solitary  home  on  a  distant  hill-side.  O 
scene  of  beauty,  such  as,  to  him,  no  other  land  can  show ! 
There  is  the  church,  here  a  school-house,  and  the  homes  of 
those  whom  he  knew  in  childhood.  He  can  see  the  places, 
where  he  used  to  watch  the  golden  sunset ;  not,  as  now,  with 
a  heart  full  of  penitence,  and  fear,  and  sorrow  for  wasted 
years,  but  in  the  innocent  days  of  youth.  There  are  the  pas- 
tures and  the  woods,  where  he  wandered,  full  of  the  dreams 
and  hopes  of  childhood — fond  hopes  and  dreams  that  have 
issued  in  such  sad  realities. 

11.  The  scene  to  others  would  be  but  an  ordinary  one. 
But,  to  him,  the  spirit  gives  it  life.  It  is  covered  all  over 
with  the  golden  hues  of  memory.  His  heart  leaps  forward 
to  his  home,  but  his  feet  linger.  May  not  death  have  been 
there  1  May  not  those  lips  be  hushed  in  the  silence  of  the 
grave,  from  which  he  hoped  to  hear  the  words  of  love  and 
forgiveness  ?  He  pauses  on  the  way,  and  does  not  approach, 
till  he  beholds  a  light  shining  through  the  uncurtained  win- 
dows of  the  humble  dwelling.  And  even  now  his  hand  is 
drawn  back,  which  was  raised  to  lift  the  latch.  He  would  see, 
if  all  are  there.  With  a  trembling  heart,  he  looks  into  the 
window, — and  there — blessed  sight ! — ^lie  beholds  his  mother, 
busy,  as  was  her  wont,  and  his  father,  only  grown  more  rev- 
erend with  increasing  age,  reading  that  holy  book  which  he  had 
taught  his  son  to  revere,  but  which  that  son  had  so  forgotten. 

12.  But  there  were  others ;  and,  lo  !  one  by  one  they  en- 
tei', — young  sisters,  who,  when  he  last  saw  them,  were  but 
children  that  sat  on  the  knee,  but  have  now  grown  up  almost 
to  womanly  years.  And  now  another  fear  seizes  him.  How 
shall  they  receive  him  ?  May  not  he  be  forgotten  ?  May 
they  not  reject  him  1  But  he  will,  at  least,  enter.  He  raises 
the  latcli, — ^^vith  a  heart  too  full  for  utterance,  he  stands,  silent 


66  SANDERS'     NEW     SERIES. 

and  timid,  in  the  door-way.  The  father  raises  his  head,  the 
mother  pauses  and  turns  to  look  at  the  guest  who  enters.  It 
is  but  a  moment,  when  burst  from  their  lips  the  fond  words 
of  recognition — my  son !  my  son  ! 

13.  Blessed  words,  which  have  told  so  fully  that  nothing  re- 
mains to  be  told,  the  undying  strength  of  parental  love  !  To 
a  traveler  who  might  that  night  have  passed  this  cottage 
among  the  hills,  if  he  had  observed  it  at  all,  it  would  have 
spoken  of  nothing  but  daily  toil,  of  decent  comfort,  of  ob? 
scure  fortunes.  Yet,  at  that  very  hour,  it  was  filled  with 
thanksgivings,  which  rose  like  incense  to  the  heavens,  because 
that  "  he  who  was  lost,  was  found ;  and  he  that  was  dead,  was 
alive  again." 

14.  Thus  ever  under  the  visible  is  the  ^wvisible.  Through 
dead  material  forms  circulate  the  currents  of  spiritual  life. 
Desert  rocks,  and  seas,  and  shores,  are  humanized  by  the 
presence  of  man,  and  become  alive  with  memories  and  affec- 
tions. There  is  a  life  which  appears,  and  under  it,  in  every 
heart,  is  a  life  which  does  not  appear,  which  is  to  the  former 
as  the  depths  of  the  sea  to  the  waves,  and  the  bubbles,  and  the 
spray  on  its  surface.  There  is  not  an  obscure  house  among 
the  mountains,  where  the  whole  romance  of  life,  from  its 
dawn  to  its  setting,  through  its  brightness  and  through  its 
gloom,  is  not  lived  through. 

15.  The  commonest  events  of  the  day  are  products  of 
the  same  passions  and  affections  which,  in  other  spheres,  de- 
cide the  fate  of  kingdoms.  Outwardly,  the  ongoings  of  ordi- 
nary life  are  like  the  movements  of  machinery,  lifeless,  me- 
chanical, common-place  repetitions  of  the  same  trifling  events. 
But  they  are  neither  lifeless,  nor  old,  nor  trifling.  The  pas- 
sions and  affections  make  them  ever  new  and  original,  and  the 
most  unimportant  acts  of  the  day  reach  forward  in  their  re- 
sults into  the  shadows  of  eternity. 

Question.— 1.  Where  are  the  passages  to  be  found  referred  to  in 
the  9th  and  13th  paragraphs?  See  Luke,  chap,  xr.,  11th,  18th,  and 
S2d  verses. 


YOUNG     LADIE-S'     READER.  67 


EXERCISE    IX. 

In  order  to  pronounce  such  words  as  think  'st,  could'st,  sleep  'st,  bid^st^ 
Ac,  clearly  and  distinctly^  pupils  should  be  frequently  exercised  on 
the  examples  preseated  on  pages  15  and  16. 

NO  CONCEALMENT. 

L.   H.    SIGOUENEY. 

1.  Think'st  thou  to  be  concealed,  thou  little  stream, 

That  through  the  lonely  vale  dost  wend  thy  way, 
Loving  beneath  the  darkest  arch  to  glide 

Of  woven  branches,  blent  with  hillocks  gray  ? 
The  mist  doth  track  thee,  and  reveal  thy  course 

Unto  the  dawn,  and  a  bright  line  of  green 
Tinting  thy  marge,  and  the  white  flocks  that  hasto, 

At  summer  noon,  to  taste  thy  crystal  sheen, 
Make  plain  thy  wanderings  to  the  eye  of  day. 

And  then,  thy  smiling  answer  to  the  moon, 
Whose  beams  so  freely  on  thy  bosom  sleep, 

Unfold  thy  secret,  even  to  night's  dull  noon — 
How  could'st  thou  hope,  in  such  a  world  as  this, 
To  shroud  thy  gentle  path  of  beauty  and  of  bliss  ? 

2.  Think'st  thou  to  be  concealed,  thou  little  seed, 

That  in  the  bosom  of  the  earth  art  cast. 
And  there,  like  cradled  infant  sleep'st  awhile. 

Unmoved  by  trampling  storm  or  thunder  blast  ? 
Thou  bid'st  thy  time ;  for  herald  Spring  shall  come, 

And  wake  thee,  all  unwilling  as  thou  art ; 
Unhood  thy  eyes,  unfold  thy  clasping  sheath, 

And  stir  the  languid  pulses  of  thy  heart ; 
The  loving  rains  shall  woo  thee,  and  the  dews 

Weep  o'er  thy  bed,  and,  ere  thou  art  aware. 
Forth  steals  the  tender  leaf,  the  wiry  stem, 

The  trembling  bud,  the  flower  that  scents  the  air, 
And  soon,  to  all,  thy  ripened  fruitage  tells  * 

The  evil  or  the  good  that  in  thy  nature  dwells. 


#'  SANBERS'     NEW     SERIES, 


3.  Think'st  thou  to  be  concealed,  thou  little  thoiight, 

That  in  the  curtained  chamber  of  the  soul 
Dost  wrap  thyself  so  close,  and  dream  to  do 

A  secrect  work  1     Look  to  the  hu^s  that  roll 
O'er  the  changed  brow, — the  moving  lips  behold, — 

Linking  thee  unto  speech, — the  feet  that  run 
Upon  thy  errands,  and  the  deeds  that*  stamp 

Thy  lineage  plain  before  the  noonday  sun  ; 
Look  to  the  pen  that  writes  thy  history  down 

In  those  tremendous  books  that  ne'er  unclose, 
Until  the  day  of  doom,  and  blush  to  see 

How  vain  thy  trust  in  darkness  to  repose, 
Where  all  things  tend  to  judgment.     So,  beware, 
O  erring  human  heart !  what  thoughts  thou  lodgest  there 


EXERCISE  X. 
THE  TWO   WEAVERS. 

HANNAH  KOBB. 

1,  As  at  their  work  two  weavers  sat, 
Beguiling  time  with  friendly  chat, 
They  touch'd  upon  the  price  of  meat, 
So  high,  a  weaver  scarce  could  eat. 

2.  "  What  with  my  bairns  and  sickly  wife," 

Quoth  Dick,  "  I  'm  almost  tired  of  life ; 
So  hard  my  work,  so  poor  my  fare, 
'Tis  more  than  mortal  man  can  bear. 

8.  "  How  glorious  is  the  rich  man's  state  ! 

His  house  so  fine  !  his  wealth  so  great ! 
Heav'n  is  unjust,  you  must  agree ; 
Why  all  to  him  1  why  none  to  me  1 


YOUNG    LADIES'  READER. 


4.  "  In  spite  of  what  the  Scripture  teaches, 

In  spite  of  all  the  parson  preaches, 
This  world  (indeed  I've  thought  so  long,) 
Is  rul'd  methinks,  extremely  wrong. 

5.  "  Where'er  I  look,  howe'er  I  range, 

'Tis  all  confused  and  hard,  and  strange ; 
The  good  are  troubl'd  and  oppress'd, 
And  all  the  wicked  are  the  bless'd." 

6.  Quoth  John,   "  Our  ignorance  is  the  cause 
Why  thus  we  blame  our  Maker's  laws  j 
Parts  of  his  ways  alone  we  know  ; 

'Tis  all  that  man  can  see  below. 

7.  "  Seest  thou  that  carpet  not  half  done. 

Which  thou,  dear  Dick,  hast  well  begun  ? 

Behold  the  wild  confusion  there. 

So  rude  the  mass  it  makes  one  stare ! 

8.  "  A  stranger,  ignorant  of  the  trade. 

Would  say,  no  meaning 's  there  convey'd  ; 
For  where 's  the  middle.  Where 's  the  border  ? 
Thy  carpet  now  is  all  disorder." 

9.  Quoth  Dick,  "  My  work  is  yet  in  bits, 
But  still  in  every  part  it  fits  ; 
Besides,  you  reason  like  a  lout, — 
Why  man,  that  carpet  '5  inside  out^ 

10.  Says  John,  "  Thou  say  'st  the  thing  I  mcMi, 
And  now  I  hope  to  cure  thy  spleen  ; 

This  world,  which  clouds  thy  soul  with  doubt, 
Is  hut  a  carpet  inside  out. 

11.  "As  when  we  view  these  shreds  and  ends, 

We  know  not  what  the  whole  inteiids ; 


70  SANDERS'    NEW    SERIES. 

So,  when  on  earth  things  look  but  odd, 
They  're  working  still  some  scheme  of  God. 

12.  "  No  plan,  no  pattern  can  we  trace ; 

All  wants  proportion,  truth,  and  grace ; 
The  motley  mixture  we  deride, 
Nor  see  the  beauteous  upper  side. 

13.  "  But,  when  we  reach  that  world  of  light, 

And  view  those  works  of  God  aright, 
Then  shall  we  see  the  whole  design, 
And  own  the  Workman  is  divine. 

14.  "  What  now  seem  random  strokes,  will  there 

All  order  and  design  appear  ; 

Then  shall  we  praise  what  here  we  spurn'd, 

For  then  the  carpet  shall  be  turned" 

15.  "  Thou  'rt  right,"  quoth  Dick,  "no  more  I  '11  grumble, 

That  this  sad  world 's  so  strange  a  jumble ; 
My  impious  doubts  are  put  to  flight, 
For  my  own  carpet  sets  me  right." 


EXERCISE    XI. 
BEAUTY  OF  THE  MORNING. 

HEEVEY. 

1.  It  was  early  in  a  summer  morning,  when  the  air  was  cool, 
the  earth  moist,  the  whole  face  of  the  creation  fresh  and  gay, 
that  I  lately  walked  in  a  beautiful  flower  garden,  and  at  once 
regaled  the  sense  and  indulged  the  fancy.  The  noisy  world 
was  scarce  awake ;  business  had  not  quite  shaken  oif  his 
sound  sleep,  and  riot  had  but  just  reclined  his  giddy  head. 
All  was  serene,  all  was  still.  Every  thing  tended  to  inspire 
tranquillity  of  mind,  and  invite  to  serious  thought ;  only  the 


YOUNG    LADIES'  KEADER.  71 

watchful  lark  had  left  her  nest,  and  was  mounting  on  high  to 
salute  the  opening  day. 

2.  Elevated  in  the  air,  sh3  seemed  to  call  the  laborious 
husbandman  to  his  toil,  and  all  her  fellow-songsters  to  theii 
notes.  Earliest  of  birds,  companion  of  the  dawn,  may  I  al- 
ways rise  at  thy  voice !  rise  to  offer  the  matin-song,  and  adore 
that  beneficent  Being,  who  maketh  the  outgoing  of  the  morn- 
ing and  evening  to  rejoice.  How  charming  is  it  to  rove 
abroad  at  this  sweet  hour  of  prime  !  to  enjoy  the  calm  of 
nature,  to  tread  the  dewy  lawns,  and  taste  the  unruffled  fresh- 
ness of  the  air ! 

Sweet  is  the  breath  of  morn,  her  rising  sweet, 
With  charm  of  earliest  birds  I 

3.  What  a  pleasure  do  the  sons  of  sloth  lose  !  Little  is 
the  sluggard  sensible  how  delicious  an  entertainment  he  for- 
goes for  the  poorest  of  all  animal  gratifications  ?  Shall  man 
be  lost  in  luxurious  ease  ?  Shall  man  waste  those  precious 
hours  in  idle  slumbers,  while  the  vigorous  sun  is  up,  and  go- 
ing on  his  Maker's  errand,  and  all  the  feathered  choir  are 
hymning  the  Creator,  and  paying  their  homage  in  harmony  1 
No  :  let  him  highten  the  melody  of  the  tuneful  tribes  by  ad- 
ding the  rational  strains  of  devotion.  Let  him  improve  the 
fragrant  oblations  of  nature,  by  mingling  with  the  rising  odors 
the  refined  breath  of  praise.  It  is  natural  for  man  to  look 
upward,  to  throw  his  first  glance  upon  the  objects  that  are 
above  him. 

Straight  toward  heav'n  my  wandering  eyes  I  turn'd, 
And  gaz'd  awhile  the  ample  sky. 

4.  Prodigious  theater  !  where  lightnings  dart  their  fire,  and 
thunders  utter  their  voice  ;  where  tempests  spend  their  rage, 
and  worlds  unnumber'd  roll  at  large. — "  Here  hath  God  set 
a  tabernacle  for  the  sun."  Behold  him  coming  forth  from 
the  chambers  of  the  east..  See  the  clouds,  like  floating  cur- 
tains are  thrown  back  at  his  approach.     With  what  refulgent 


72  SANDERS'     NEW     SERIES, 


majesty  does  he  walk  abroad !  How  transcendently  brighft 
is  his  countenance,  shedding  day  and  inexhaustible  light 
through  the  universe ! 

5.  Methinks  I  discern  a  thousand  admirable  properties  in 
-the  sun.  It  is  certainly  the  best  material  emblem  of  the 
Creator.  There  is  more  of  God  in  its  luster,  energy,  and 
usefulness,  than  in  any  other  visible  being.  To  worship  it  as 
a  deity  was  the  most  excusable  of  all  the  heathen  idolatries. 

QrESTioNS. — 1.  Are  the  questions  in  the  3d  paragraph  direct  or  in 
direct?    2.  "With  what  inflection,  then,  should  they  be  read  ? 


EXERCISE  XII. 


1.  Percy  Btsshe  Shelley,  an  eminent  English  poet,  was  born  in 
Sussex  county,  in  1792.  He  was  the  author  of  several  poetical  works, 
displaying  genius  of  the  highest  order  He  was  drowned  by  the 
wreck  of  his  own  sailing-boat  in  a  violent  storm,  on  his  return  from 
Leghorn  to  his  house,  on  the  gulf  of.  Lerici,  July  8th,  1822. 

THE  TRUE  DIGNITY  OF  LABOR. 

wiLLUM  Howrrx. 

1.  From  the  foundation  of  the  world  there  has  been  a  ten- 
dency to  look  down  upon  labor,  and  upon  those  who  live  by 
it,  with  contempt,  as  though  it  were  something  mean  and  ig- 
noble. This  is  one  of  those  vulgar  prejudices  which  have 
arisen  from  considering  everything  vulgar  that  was  peculiar 
to  the  multitude.  Because  the  multitude  have  been  suffered 
to  remain  too  long  rude  and  ignorant,  everything  associated 
with  their  condition  has  been  confounded  with  the  circum- 
stances of  this  condition. 

2.  The  multitude  were,  in  their  rudeness  and  ignorance, 
mean  in  the  public  estimation,  and  the  labor  of  their  hands 
was  held  to  be  mean  too.  Nay,  it  has  been  said  that  labor 
is  the  result  of  God's  primary  curse,  pronounced  on  man 
.fer  his  disobedienoe.     put  th&t  is  a  great  mistake.    Gfod  told 


YOUNG     LADIES'     READER.  73 

Adam  that  the  ground  was  cursed  for  his  sake,  but  not  that 
his  labor  was  cursed.  He  told  him  that  in  the  sweat  of  his 
face  he  should  eat  his  bread  till  he  returned  to  the  ground. 

3.  But,  so  far  from  labor  partaking  of  the  curse,  it  was 
given  him  as  the  means  of  triumphing  over  the  curse.  The 
ground  was  to  produce  thorns  and  thistles,  but  labor  was  to 
extirpate  these  thorns  and  thistles,  and  to  cover  the  face  of 
the  earth  with  fruit-trees  and  bounteous  harvests.  And  labor 
has  done  this ;  labor  has  already  converted  the  earth,  so  far 
as  the  surface  is  concerned,  from  a  wilderness  into  a  paradise 
Man  eats  his  bread  in  the  sweat  of  his  face,  but  is  there  ariy 
bread  so  sweet  as  that,  when  he  has  only  nature  to  contend 
with,  and  not  the  false  arrangements  of  his  fellow  men  1 

4.  So  far  is  labor  from  being  a  curse,  so  far  is  it  from  be- 
ing a  disgrace  ;  it  is  the  very  principle  which,  like  the  winds 
of  the  air,  or  the  agitation  of  the  sea,  keeps  the  world  in 
health.  It  is  the  very  life-blood  of  society,  stirring  in  all  its 
veins,  and  diffusing  vigor  and  enjoyment  through  the  whole 
system.  Without  man's  labor,  God  had  created  the  world  in 
vain  !  Without  our  labor,  all  life,  except  that  of  the  rudest 
and  most  savage  kind,  must  perish.  Arts,  civilization,  refine- 
ment, and  religion  must  perish.  Labor  is  the  grand  pedestal 
of  God's  blessings  upon  earth  ;  it  is  more — like  man  and  the 
world  itself — it  is  the  offspring  and  the  work  of  God. 

5.  So  then,  labor,  instead  of  being  the  slave  and  the  drudge, 
is  really  the  prince  and  the  demigod.  It  is  no  mean  species 
of  action,  but  it  is,  in  truth,  a  divine  principle  of  the  universe^ 
issuing  from  the  bosom  of  the  Creator,  and  for  the  achieve- 
ment of  his  most  glorious  purpose,  the  happiness  of  all  his 
creatures.  Who  was  and  is  the  first  great  laborer  1  It  is 
God  himself !  In  the  far  depths  of  the  unexplored  eternity 
of  the  past,  God  began  his  labors.  He  formed  world  afler 
world,  and  poised  them  in  infinite  space,  in  the  beautiful  lan- 
guage of  Shelley,*  like 

"  Islands  in  the  ocean  of  the  world." 

6    From  that  time  to  the  present,  there  is  every  rational 
\ 


74  SANDERS'   NEW    SERIES. 

cause  to  believe  that  he  "has  gone  on  laboring.  He  is  the  great 
Laborer  of  eternity  ;  and  it  is  the  highest  of  possible  honors  to 
be  admitted  to  labor  with  him.  There  is  no  patent  of  nobil- 
ity, which  can  confer  a  glory  like  this.  When  he  had  finished 
his  labor  on  our  planet,  his  last  and  noblest  work  being  man, 
he  conferred  on  him  a  partnership  in  his  labors.  He  handed 
down  to  him  the  great  chain  of  labor,  and  bade  him  encircl* 
the  world  with  it. 

7.  He  elected  us  as  his  successors  here ;  and,  from  that 
time  to  this,  the  great  family  of  man  has  gone  on  laboring 
with  head  and  hand  in  a  myriad  of  ways,  carrying  out,  by  the 
unceasing  operations  of  intellect  and  mechanic  skill,  by  in- 
vention and  construction,  the  designs  of  the  Almighty  for  the 
good  of  his  creatures.  Can  there  positively  be  a  sight  more 
delightful  to  the  great  unseen,  but  watchful  Father  of  the 
Universe,  than  that  of  all  his  countless  rational  creatures  busy 
at  the  benificent  scheme  of  boundless  labors,  out  of  which 
springs  the  gladness  of  all  life  ? 

8.  After  the  lapse  of  thousands  of  years,  and  when  the 
cunning  and  the  proud  had  cast  a  base  stigma  on  that  which 
God  had  created  good  and  the  medium  of  good,  Christ  came, 
and  what  were  his  remarkable  words  1  "  My  Father  worJceth 
hitherto^  and  I  work.''''  Thus  again,  the  revelation  of  the  Gos- 
pel was  also  a  grand  revelation  of  the  dignity  of  labor.  It 
was  acknowledged  to  be  a  principle  exercised  by  the  Divinity 
itself.  Every  one  who  labored  was  made  to  appear,  not  the 
slave  of  man,  but  the  fellow-laborer  of  God.  Where,  then, 
is  the  meanness  of  labor  1  If  God  himself  does  not  disdain 
to  use  it,  shall  we  1  If  God  seems  even  to  glory  in  his  labors, 
shall  we  be  ashamed  of  ours  1  No  !  Labor  is,  as  we  have 
asserted,  a  divine  principle  of  the  universe ;  it  is  the  most 
honorable  thing  on  the  earth,  and,  next  to  God  himself,  it  is 
the  most  ancient  in  heaven. 

9.  All  honor  then  to  labor,  the  offspring  of  Deity ;  the 
most  ancient  of  ancients,  sent  forth  by  the  Almighty  into 
these  nether  worlds  ;  the  most  noble  of  nobles  !     Honor  to 


YOUNG     LADIES'     READER.  75 


that  divine  principle  which  has  filled  the  earth  with  all  the 
comforts,  and  joys,  and  affluence  that  it  possesses,  and  is  un- 
doubtedly the  instrument  of  happiness  wherever  life  is  found. 
"Without  labor,  what  is  there  ?  Without  it,  there  were  no 
world  itself. 

10.  Whatever  we  see  or  perceive — in  heaven  or  on  the 
earth — is  the  product  of  labor. .  The  sky  above  us,  the  ground 
beneath  us,  the  air  we  breathe,  the  sun,  the  moon,  the  stars — 
what  are  they  1  The  product  of  labor.  They  are  the  labors 
of  the  Omnipotent,  and  all  our  labors  are  but  a  continuance 
of  His.  Our  work  is  a  divine  work.  We  carry  on  what 
God  began.  We  build  up,  each  in  his  own  vocation,  the 
grand  fabric  of  human  honor  and  human  happiness,  exercising 
all  our  faculties  and  powers,  physical  and  intellectual,  and  the 
result  is — What  1 

11.  The  scene  of  all  our  glories,  the  sum  of  all  our  achieve- 
ments as  a  race,  every  thing  which  history  can  tell,  which  art 
has  accomplished,  which  science  has  exhumed  from  the  depths 
of  oblivious  darkness,  which  embellishes  our  abodes,  and  ani- 
mates us  to  still  greater  victories  in  the  cause  of  man  and 
mind. 

12.  What  a  glorious  spectacle  is  that  of  the  labor  of  man 
upon  the  earth !  It  includes  every  thing  in  it  that  is  glorious. 
Look  round,  my  friends,  and  tell  me  what  you  see  that  is 
worth  seeing  that  is  not  the  work  of  your  hands,  and  of  the 
hands  of  your  fellows — the  multitude  of  all  ages  ? 

13.  What  is  it  that  felled  the  ancient  forests,  and  cleared 
vast  morasses  of  other  ages  1  That  makes  green  fields  smile 
in  the  sun,  and  corn,  rustling  in  the  breezes  of  heaven,  whisper 
of  plenty  and  domestic  joy  1  What  raised  first  the  hut,  and 
then  the  cottage,  and  then  the  palace  ?  What  filled  all  these 
with  food  and  furniture — with  food  simple  and  also  costly  ; 
with  furniture  of  infinite  variety,  from  the  three-legged  stool 
to  the  most  magnificent  cabinet  and  the  regal  throne  ?  What 
made  glass,  and  dyed  it  with  all  the  hues  of  rainbows,  or  of 
summer 'sunsets  1    What  constructed  presses,  and  books,  and 


76  SANDERS'     NEW     SERIES. 

filled  up  the  walls  of  libraries,  every  inch  of  which  contained 
a  mass  of  latent  light  hoarded  for  the  use  of  ages  *?  What 
took  the  hint  from  the  split  walnut-shell  which  some  boy 
floated  on  the  brook,  and  set  on  the  flood  first  the  boat,  and 
then  the  ship,  and  has  scattered  these  glorious  children  of 
man,  the  water-walking  ships,  over  all  the  oceans  of  tho 
world,  and  filled  them  with  th«  produce  of  all  lands,  and  the 
machinery  and  steam  of  profoundest  inventions  1 

14.  What  has  made  the  wide  sea  like  a  great  city  street, 
where  merchants  are  going  to  and  fro  full  of  eager  thoughts 
of  self-accumulation,  but  not  the  less  full  of  international 
blessings  ?  What  has  made  the  land  like  one  great  garden, 
laid  down  its  roads  that  run  like  veins  to  every  portion  of 
the  system  of  life,  cut  its  canals,  cast  up  its  lines  of  rail- ways, 
and  driven  along  them,  in  fire  and  vapor,  the  awful  but  bene- 
ficial dragons  of  modern  enterprise  1  What  has  piled  up  all 
our  cities  with  their  glittering  and  exhaustless  wealth,  their 
splendid  utensils,  their  paintings,  their  mechanic  wonders,  all 
serving  domestic  life,  and  its  beloved  fireside  delights  1  La- 
bor !  labor  !  labor  !  It  is  labor,  and  your  labor,  men  of  the 
multitude,  that  has  done  it  all ! 

15.  True,  the -wise  ones  tell  us  that  it  is  intellect  that  has 
done  it.  And  all  honor  to  intellect !  It  is  not  I,  nor  you, 
fellow-workers,  who  will  attempt  to  rob  the  royal  power  of 
intellect  of  one  iota  of  his  renown.  Intellect  is  also  a  glori- 
ous gift  of  the  Divinity, — a  divine  principle  in  the  earth. 
We  set  intellect  at  the  head  of  labor,  and  bid  it  lead  the  way 
to  all  wonders  and  discoveries ;  but  we  know  that  intellect 
can  not  go  alone.     Intellect  can  not  separate  itself  from  labor. 

16.  Intellect  has  also  its  labor ;  and  in  its  most  abstract 
and  ethereal  form  can  not  develop  itself  without  the  co-opera- 
tion of  its  twin-brother  labor.  When  intellect  exerts  itself, — 
when  it  thinks,  and  invents,  and  discovers, — it  then  labors. 
Through  the  medium  of  labor  it  does  all  that  it  does ;  and 
upon  labor  it  is  perfectly  dependent  to  carry  out  all  its  me- 
chanical operations.     Intellect  is  the  head, — labor  the  right 


YOUNG     L.ADIES'     KEADER.  77 

nand.  Take  away  the  hand,  and  the  head  is  a  magazine  of 
knowledge  and  fire  that  is  sealed  up  in  eternal  darkness. 
Such  are  the  relationships  of  labor  and  intellect. 


EXERCISE    XIII. 
THE  LABORER. 

WH.   D.  OAILAOHXR. 

k  Stand  up — erect !    Thou  hast  the  form, 

And  likeness  of  thy  God  !— who  more? 

A  soul  as  dauntless  'mid  the  storm 

Of  daily  life,  a  heart  as  warm 

And  pure,  as  breast  e'er  wore. 

2.  What  then  1 — Thou  art  as  true  a  man 

As  moves  the  human  mass  among ; 

As  much  a  part  of  the  great  plan 

That  with  Creation's  dawn  began, 
As  any  of  the  throng. 

8.         Who  is  thine  enemy "? — the  high 

In  station,  or  in  wealth  the  chi6f  1 

The  great,  who  coldly  pass  thee  by, 

With  proud  step  and  averted  eye  ? 
Nay  !  nurse  not  such  belief. 

4.  If  true  unto  thyself  thou  wast. 

What  were  the  proud  one's  scorn  to  lihee  % 
A  feather,  which  thou  mightest  cast 
Aside,  as  idly  as  the  blast 

The  light  leaf  from  the  tree. 

5.  No ; — uncurb'd  passions,  lo^"  desires, 

Absence  of  noble  self-respect. 
Death,  in  the  breast's  consuming  fires, 
To  that  high  nature  which  aspires 

Forever,  till  thus  check'd. 


78  SANDERS'     NEW     SERIES. 

6.  These  are  thine  enemies — thy  worst ; 

They  chain  thee  to  thy  lowly  lot : 
Thy  labor  and  thy  life  accursed. 
O,  stand  erect !  and  from  them  burst ' 

And  longer  suffer  not ! 

7.  Thou  art  thyself  thine  enemy  ! 

The  great ! — what  better  tney  tnan  thou  ? 
As  theirs,  is  not  thy  will  as  free  ? 
Has  God  with  equal  favors  thee 

Neglected  to  endow  1 

8.  True,  wealth  thou  hast  not — 'tis  but  dust ! 

Nor  place — uncertain  as  the  wind  ! 
But  that  thou  hast,  which,  with  thy  crust, 
And  water,  may  despise  the  lust 

Of  both, — a  noble  mind. 

9.  With  this,  and  passions  under  ban, 

True  faith,  and  holy  trust  in  God, 
Thou  art  the  peer  of  any  man. 
Look  up  then :  that  thy  little  span 

Of  life  may  be  well  trod ! 


EXERCISE    XIV. 

ACTION  ALWAYS  HEALTHFUL. 


By  ceaseless  action,  all  that  is  subsists. 
Constant  rotation  ©f  the  unwearied  wheel 
That  Nature  rides  upon,  maintains  her  health. 
Her  beauty,  her  fertility.     She  dreads 
An  instant's  pause,  and  livesbut  while  she  moves. 
Its  own  revolvency  upholds  the  world. 


YOUNG  ladies'  keader.  79 


2.  Winds  from  all  quarters  agitate  the  air, 
And  fit  the  limpid  element  for  use, 

~     Else  noxious  ;  oceans,  rivers,  lakes  and  streams, 
All  feel  the  freshening  impulse,  and  are  cleansed 
By  restless  undulation ;  e'en  the  oak 
Thrives  by  the  rude  concussion  of  the  storm  ; 
He  seems,  indeed,  indignant,  and  to  feel 
The  impression  of  the  blast  with  proud  disdain, 
Frowning,  as  if  in  his  unconscious  arm 
He  held  the  thunder ;  but  the  monarch  owes 
His  firm  stability  to  what  he  scorns, 
More  fixed  below,  the  more  disturbed  above. 

3.  The  law,  by  which  all  creatures  else  are  bound, 
Binds  man,  the  lord  of  all.     Himself  derives 
No  mean  advantage  from  a  kindred  cause ; 
From  strenuous  toil  his  hours  of  sweetest  ease. 
The  sedentary  stretch  their  lazy  length 
When  custom  bids,  but  no  refreshment  find  ; 
For  none  they  need :  the  languid  eye,  the  cheek 
Deserted  of  its  bloom,  the  flaccid,  shrunk, 
And  withered  muscle,  and  the  vapid  soul, 
Reproach  their  owner  with  that  love  of  rest. 
To  which  he  forfeits  e'en  the  rest  he  loves. 

4.  Not  such  the  alert  and  active.     Measure  life 
By  its  true  worth,  the  comfort  it  affords, 
And  their's  alone  seems  worthy  of  the  name. 
Good  health,  and  its  associate  in  the  most. 
Good  temper ;  spirits  prompt  to  undertake, 
And  not  soon  spent,  though  in  an  arduous  task ; 
The  powers  of  fancy  and  strong  thought  are  theirs ; 
E'en  age  itself  seems  privileged  in  them 

With  clear  exemption  from  its  own  defects. 
A  sparkling  eye  beneath  a  wrinkled  front 
The  veteran  shows,  and  gracing  a  gray  beard 


80  SANDERS'   NEW    SERIES. 

With  youthful  smiles,  descends  toward  the  grave 
Sprightly  and  old,  almost  without  decay. 

5.  Like  a  coy  maiden,  Ease,  when  courted  most, 
Farthest  retires, — an  idol,  at  whose  shrine 
"Who  oftenest  sacrifice,  are  favored  least. 
The  love  of  Nature,  and  the  scenes  she  draws, 

Is  Nature's  dictate.     Strange  !  there  should  be  found. 

Who,  self-imprisoned  in  their  proud  saloons, 

Renounce  the  odors  of  the  open  field 

For  the  unscented  fictions  of  the  loom  ; 

Who,  satisfied  only  with  penciled  scenes, 

Prefer  to  the  performance  of  a  God 

Th^ inferior  wonder  of  an  artist's  hand  ! 

Lovely,  indeed,  the  mimic  works  of  Art ; 

But  Nature's  works  far  lovelier. 

6.  I  admire, 
None  more  admires,  the  painter's  magic  skill, 
Who  shows  me  that  which  I  shall  never  see, 
Conveys  a  distant  country  into  mine, 

And  throws  Italian  light  on  English  walls : 
But  imitative  strokes  can  do  no  more 
Than  please  the  eye, — sweet  Nature's  every  aezse. 
The  air  salubrious  of  her  lofty  hills, 
The  cheering  fragrance  of  her  dewy  vales. 
And  music  of  her  woods, — ^no  works  of  man 
May  rival  these  ;  these  all  bespeak  a  power 
Peculiar,  and  exclusively  her  own. 

7.  Beneath  the  open  sky  she  spreads  the  feast ; 
'Tis  free  to  all — 'tis  every  day  renewed ; 
Who  scorns  it  starves  deservedly  at  home. 
He  does  not  scorn  it  who,  imprisoned  long 
In  some  unwholesome  dungeon,  and  a  prey 
To  sallow  sickness,  which  the  vapors,  dank 
And  clammy,  of  his  dark  abode  have  bred, 
Escapes  at  last  to  liberty  and  light : 


yOUKG    LADIES'  EEADER.  81 

His  cheek  recovers  soon  its  healthful  hue ; 

His  eye  relumines  its  extinguished  fires  ; 

He  walks,  he  leaps,  he  runs, — is  winged  with  joy, 

And  riots  in  the  sweets  of  every  breeze. 


EXERCISE  XV. 


1.  Sa'-  ttr,  in  Grecian  mythology,  a  sort  of  inferior  deity,  or  demi- 
god, represented  as  a  monster,  half  a  man  and  half  goat,  having  short 
horns  on  the  head,  the  body  covered  with  hair,  and  the  feet  and  tail 
of  a  goat. 

2.  Pe'-ei,  among  the  Persians,  was  an  elf  or  fairy,  fancied  to  be  a  de- 
scendant of  fallen  angels,  and  awaiting  only  the  termination  of  the 
penance  enjoined,  to  return  to  the  bliss  of  Paradise. 

3.  Muf'-ti,  among  the  Mohammedans,  is  an  official  interpreter  of  Mo- 
hammedan law.  Every  large  town  contains  at  least  one ;  the  one 
residing  at  Constantinople  being,  in  some  sense,  over  all  the  rest, 

AN  EASTERN  APOLOGUE. 

1,  Abdallah  sat  at  his  morning  meal,  when  there  alighted 
on  the  rim  of  his  goblet  a  little  fly.  It  sipped  an  atom  of 
sirup  and  was  gone.  But  it  came  next  morning,  and  the 
next,  and  the  next  again,  till  at  last  the  scholar  noticed  it. 
Not  quite  a  common  fly,  it  seemed  to  know  that  it  was  beau- 
tiful, and  it  soon  grew  very  bold.  And,  lo  !  a  great  wonder  : 
it  became  daily  larger,  and  yet  larger,  till  there  could  be  dis- 
cerned in  the  size,  as  of  a  locust,  the  appearance  as  of  a  man. 
From  a  handbreadth  it  reached  the  stature  of  a  cubit ;  and 
still,  so  winning  were  its  ways,  that  it  found  more  and  more 
favor  with  this  son  of  infatuation.  It  frisked  like  a  Satyr,* 
and  it  sang  like  a  Peri,'^  and  like  a  moth  of  the  evening  it 
danced  on  the  ceiling,  and,  like  the  king's  gift,  withersoever  it 
turned,  it  prospered. 

2.  The  eyes  of  the  simple  one  were  blinded,  so  that  he 

4* 


^  SAKDERS'    NEW   SERIES. 


could  not  in  all  this  perceive  the  subtilty  of  an  evil  gin. 
Therefore  the  lying  spirit  waxed  bolder  and  yet  bolder,  and 
■whatsoever  his  soul  desired  of  dainty  meats,  he  freely  took  ; 
and  when  the  scholar  waxed  wroth,  and  said  :  "  This  is  my 
daily  portion  from  the  table  of  the  Mufti  f  there  is  not  enough 
for  thee  and  me,"  the  dog-faced  deceiver  played  some  pleasant 
trick,  and  caused  the  silly  one  to  smile.  Until,  in  process  of 
time,  the  scholar  perceived  that,  as  his  guest  grew  stronger 
and  stronger,  he  himself  waxed  weaker  and  weaker. 

3.  Now,  also,  there  arose  frequent  strife  betwixt  the  de- 
mon and  his  dupe,  and  at  last  the  youth  smote  the  fiend 
so  sore,  that  he  departed  for  a  season.  And,  when  he  was 
gone,  Abdallah  rejoiced  and  said  :  "  I  have  triumphed  over 
mme  enemy,  and  whatsoever  time  it  pleaseth  me,  I  shall 
smite  him  so  that  he  die.  Is  he  not  altogether  in  mine  own 
power  ?"  But  after  not  many  days  the  gin  came  back  again, 
and  this  time  he  was  arrayed  in  goodly  garments,  and  he 
brought  a  present  in  his  hand,  and  he  spake  of  the  days  of 
their  first  friendship,  and  he  looked  so  mild  and  feeble,  that 
his  smooth  words  wrought  upon  this  dove  without  a  heart, 
and  saying  :  "  Is  he  not  a  little  one  ?"  he  received  him  again 
into  his  chamber. 

4.  On  the  morrow,  when  Abdallah  came  not  into  the  as- 
sembly of  studious  youth,  the  Mufti  said :  "  Wherefore  tarri- 
eth  the  son  of  Abdul  1  Perchance,  he  sleepeth."  Therefore 
they  repaired  even  to  his  chamber ;  but  to  their  knocking  he 
made  no  answer.  Wherefore,  the  Mufti  opened  the  door, 
and,  lo  !  there  lay  on  the  divan  the  dead  body  of  his  disciple. 
His  visage  was  black  and  swollen,  and  on  his  throat  was  the 
pressure  of  a  finger,  broader  than  the  palm  of  a  mighty  man. 
All  the  stuff,  the  gold,  and  the  changes  of  raiment  belonging 
to  the  hapless  one,  were  gone,  and  in  the  soft  earth  of  the  gar- 
den were  seen  the  footsteps  of  a  giant.  The  mufti  measured 
one  of  the  prints,  and,  behold !  it  was  six  cubits  long. 

5.  Reader,  canst  thou  expound  the  riddle "?  Is  it  the  Bottle, 
or  the  Betting-book  1    Is  it  the  Billiard-table  or  the  Theater  ? 


YOUNG     LADIES'     READER, 


Is  it  Smoking  ?  Is  it  Laziness  1  Is  it  Novel-reading  1  But 
know  that  an  evil  habit  is  an  elf  constantly  expanding.  It 
may  come  in  at  the  key-hole,  but  it  will  soon  grow  too  big 
for  the  house.  Know,  also,  that  no  evil  habit  can  take  the  life 
of  your  soul,  unless  you  yourself  nourish  it,  and  cherish  it, 
and  by  feeding  it  with  your  own  vitality,  give  it  a  strength 
greater  than  your  own. 


EXERCISE    XVI. 
LIVE  NOT  TO  YOURSELF. 


RET.   JOHN  TODD. 

1.  On  a  frail  little  stem  in  the  garden  hangs  the  opening  rose. 
Go  ask  why  it  hangs  there  !  "I  hang  there,"  says  the  beau- 
tiful flower,  "  to  sweeten  the  air  which  man  breathes,  to  open 
my  beauties,  to  kindle  emotion  in  his  eye,  to  show  him  the 
hand  of  his  God,  who  penciled  each  leaf,  and  laid  them  thus 
on  my  bosom.  And,  whether  you  find  me  here  to  greet  him 
every  morning,  or  whether  you  find  me  on  the  lone  mountain- 
side, with  the  bare  possibility  that  he  will  throw  me  one  pass- 
ing glance,  my  end  is  the  same.     I  live  not  to  myself." 

2.  Beside  yon  highway  stands  an  aged  tree,  solitary  and 
alone.  You  see  no  living  thing  near  it,  and  you  say,  surely 
that  must  stand  for  itself  alone.  "  No  ;"  says  the  tree,  "  God 
never  made  me  for  a  purpose  so  small.  For  more  than  a 
hundred  years  I  have  stood  here.  In  summer,  I  have  spread 
out  my  arms,  and  sheltered  the  panting  flocks  which  hastened 
to  my  shade ;  in  my  bosom  I  have  concealed  and  protected 
the  brood  of  young  birds,  as  they  lay  and  rocked  in  their 
nests ;  in  the  storm  I  have  more  than  once  received  in  my 
body  the  lightning's  bolt,  which  had  else  destroyed  the  trav- 
eler ;  the  acorns  which  I  have  matured  from  year  to  year, 
have  been  carried  far  and  wide,  and  groves  of  forest  oaks  can 
claim  me  as  their  parent. 


84  SANDERS'     NEW     SERIES. 

3.  "  I  have  lived  for  the  eagle  which  has  perched  on  my 
tof) ;  for  the  humming-bird,  that  has  paused  and  refreshed  its 
giddy  wings  ere  it  danced  away  again  like  a  blossom  of  the 
air  ;  for  the  insect  that  has  found  a  home  within  the  folds  of 
my  bark ; — and,  when  I  can  stand  no  longer,  I  shall  fall  by  the 
hand  of  man,  and  I  will  go  to  strengthen  the  ship  which 
makes  him  lord  of  the  ocean,  and  to  his  dwelling,  to  warm 
his  hearth  and  cheer  his  home.     I  live  not  to  myself." 

4.  On  yonder  mountain-side  comes  down  the  silver  brook, 
in  the  distance  resembling  a  ribbon  of  silver,  running  and 
leaping  as  it  dashes  joyously  and  fearlessly  down.  Go  ask 
the  leaper  what  it  is  doing.  "  I  was  born,"  says  the  brook, 
"  high  up  the  mountain  ;  but  there  I  could  do  no  good  ;  and 
so  I  am  hurrying  down,  running  where  I  can,  and  leaping 
where  I  must,  but  hastening  down  to  water  the  sweet  valley, 
where  the  thirsty  cattle  may  drink,  where  the  lark  may  sing 
on  my  margin,  where  I  may  drive  the  mill  for  the  accommo- 
dation of  man,  and  then  widen  into  the  great  river,  and  bear 
up  his  steamboats  and  shipping,  and  finally  plunge  into  the 
ocean,  to  rise  again  in  vapor,  and  perhaps  come  back  again, 
in  the  clouds,  to  my  own  native  mountain,  and  live  my  short 
life  over  again.  Not  a  drop  of  water  comes  down  my  chan- 
nel, in  whose  bright  face  you  may  not  read, '  None  of  us  liveth 
to  himself.' " 

5.  Speak  now  to  that  solitary  star  that  hangs  in  the  far 
verge  of  heaven,  and  ask  the  bright  sparkler  what  it  is  doing 
there  1  Its  voice  comes  down  the  path  of  light,  and  cries  : 
"  I  am  a  mighty  world !  I  was  stationed  here  at  the  creation. 
I  was  among  the  morning  stars  that  sang  together,  and  among 
the  sons  of  God  that  shouted  for  joy,  at  the  creation  of  the 
earth.     Aye,  I  was  there — 

"  When  the  radiant  morn  of  creation  broke, 
And  the  world  in  the  smile  of  God  awoke, 
And  the  empty  realms  of  darkness  and  death 
"Were  moved  through  their  depths  by  his  mighty  breath, 


YOUNG     LADIES'     EBADER.  86 

And  orbs  of  beauty  and  spheres  of  flame, 

From  the  void  abyss  by  myriads  came, 

In  the  joy  of  youth,  as  they  darted  away 

Through  the  widening  wastes  of  space  to  play. 

Their  silver  voices  in  chorus  rung. 

And  this  was  the  song  the  bright  ones  sung." 

6.  '*  Here,  among  the  morning  stars,  I  hold  my  place,  and 
help  to  keep  other  worlds  balanced  and  in  their  places.  I  have 
oceans  and  mountains,  and  I  support  myriads  of  immortal 
beins^s  on  my  bosom ;  and,  when  I  have  done  this,  I  send  my 
bright  beams  down  to  earth,  and  the  sailor  takes  hold  of  the 
helm,  and  fixes  his  eye  on  me,  and  finds  his  home  across  the 
ocean.  Of  all  the  countless  hosts  of  my  sister  stars,  who 
walk  forth  in  the  great  space  of  creation,  not  one,  not  one 
lives  or  shines  for  herself." 

7.  And  thus  God  has  written  upon  the  flower  that  sweetens 
the  air,  upon  the  breeze  that  rocks  that  flower  on  its  stem, 
upon  the  rain-drops  which  swell  the  mighty  river,  upon  the 
dew-drop  that  refreshes  the  smallest  sprig  of  moss  that  rears 
its  head  in  the  desert,  upon  the  ocean  that  rocks  every  swim- 
mer in  its  chambers,  upon  every  penciled  shell  that  sleeps  in 
the  caverns  of  the  deep,  as  well  as  upon  the  mighty  sun 
which  warms  and  cheers  the  millions  of  creatures  that  live  in 
its  light — upon  all  hath  He  written,  "  None  of  us  liveth  to 

HIMSELF." 


EXERCISE    XVII. 


The  following  poem  was  written  in  June,  1840,  when  the  author 
was  seventy-four  years  of  age,  under  these  circumstances :  Gen.  Ogle 
informed  Mr.  Adams  that  several  young  ladies  in  his  district  had  re 
quested  him  to  obtain  his  autograph  for  them.  In  accordance  with 
tliis  request;  Mr.  Adams  wrote  the  following  beautiful  poem  upon 
"The  AVants  of  Man,"  each  stanza  upon  a  sheet  of  note  paper. 
What  American  young  lady  would  not  set  a  precious  value  upon  such 
an  autograph  from  this  illustrious  statesman 


86  SANDERS'    NEW     SERIES. 


THE  WANTS  OF  MAN. 

JOHN  QTHNOY  ADAMS. 

"  Man  wants  but  little  here  below, 

Nor  wants  that  little  long  ;"* 
'Tis  not  with  me  exactly  so, 

But  'tis  so  in  the  song. 
My  wants  are  many,  and,  if  told, 

Would  muster  many  a  score. 
And  were  each  wish  a  mint  of  gold, 

I  still  should  long  for  more. 

I  want  a  warm  and  faithful  friend, 

To  cheer  the  adverse  hour, 
Who  ne'er  to  flatter  will  descend. 

Nor  bend  the  knee  to  power. 
A  friend  to  chide  me  when  I  'm  wrong, 

My  inmost  soul  to  see  ; 
And  that  my  friendship  proves  as  strong 

For  him,  as  his  for  me. 

I  want  a  kind  and  tender  heart 

For  others'  wants  to  feel, 
A  soul  secure  from  Fortune's  dart. 

And  bosom  armed  with  steel. 
To  bear  divine  chastisements'  rod, 

And  mingling  in  my  plan 
Submission  to  the  will  of  God, 

With  charity  to  man. 

I  want  a  keen,  observing  eye. 

An  ever-listening  ear. 
The  truth  through  all  disguise  to  spy, 

And  Wisdom's  voice  to  hear ; 
A  tongue  to  speak  at  Virtue's  need 

In  Heaven's  sublimest  strain ; 

*  Goldsmith's  Hermit 


YOUNG    LADIES'  READER.  87 


And  lips  the  cause  of  man  to  plead, 
And  never  plead  in  vain. 

5.  I  want  uninterrupted  health 

Throughout  my  long  career ; 
And  streams  of  never-failing  wealth, 

To  scatter  far  and  near, 
The  destitute  to  clothe  and  feed, 

Free  bounty  to  bestow  ; 
Supply  the  helpless  orphan's  need, 

And  soothe  the  widow's  woe. 

6.  I  want  the  genius  to  conceive, 

The  talents  to  unfold 
Designs, — the  vicious  to  retrieve ; 

The  virtuous  to  uphold  ; 
Inventive  power,  combining  skill ; 

A  persevering  soul. 
Of  human  hearts  to  mold  the  will, 

And  reach  from  pole  to  pole. 

7.  I  want  the  seals  of  power  and  place  ; 

The  ensigns  of  command  ; 
Charged  by  the  people's  unbought  grace 

To  rule  my  native  land, — 
For  crown  nor  scepter  would  I  ask, 

But  from  my  country's  will, 
By  day,  by  night,  to  ply  the  task. 

Her  cup  of  bliss  to  fill. 

8.  I  want  the  voice  of  honest  praise 

To  follow  me  behind ; 
And  to  be  thought,  in  future  days, 

The  friend  of  human  kind. 
That  after  ages,  as  they  rise, 

Exulting  may  proclaim, 


In  choral  union,  to  the  skies, 
Their  blessing  on  my  name. 

9.  And  O  !  while  circles  in  my  veins 

Of  life,  the  purple  stream. 
And  yet  a  fragment  small  remains 

Of  nature's  transient  dream ; 
My  soul,  in  humble  hope  unscared, 

Forget  not  thou  to  pray. 
That  this  thy  want  may  be  piepared, 

To  meet  the  judgment  day. 


EXERCISE  XVm. 

THE  STJLIOTE  MOTHER. 


HSS.    &EHAKS. 


1.  She  stood  upon  the  loftiest  peak, 

Amidst  the  clear  blue  sky  : 

A  bitter  smile  was  on  her  cheek, 

And  a  dark  flash  in  her  eye. 

2.  "  Dost  thou  see  them,  boy  1 — through  the  dusky  pines, 
(<)  Dost  thou  see  where  the  foeman's  armor  shines  1 

Hast  thou  caught  the  gleam  on  the  conqueror's  crest  % 
My  babe,  that  I  cradled  on  my  breast ! 
Would'st  thou  spring  from  thy  mother's  arms  with  joy 
That  sight  hath  cost  thee  a  father,  boy !" 

3.  For  in  the  rocky  strait  beneath, 
(jpl,)  Lay  Suliote,  sire  and  son. 

They  had  heaped  high  the  piles  of  death, 
Before  the  pass  was  won. 

4.  "  They  have  crossed  the  torrent,  and  on  they  come  ! 

Woe  for  the  mountain  hearth  and  home ! 


YOUNG  LADIES'  READER. 

There,  where  the  hunter  laid  by  his  spear, 
There,  where  the  lyre  hath  been  sweet  to  hear, 
There,  where  I  sang  thee,  fair  babe,  to  sleep, 
Naught  but  the  blood-stain  our  trace  shall  keep !" 

5.  And  now  the  horn's  loud  blast  was  heard, 

And  now  the  cymbal's  clang. 
Till  even  the  upper  air  was  stirred, 
As  cliff  and  hollow  rang. 

6.  "  Hark !  they  bring  music,  my  joyous  child  !  , 

What  saith  the  trumpet  to  Suli's  wild  ! 

Doth  it  light  thine  eye  with  so  quick  a  fire. 

As  if  at  a  glance  of  thine  armed  sire  1 

Still !  (p.)  be  thou  still !  there  are  brave  men  low, — 

Thou  would'st  not  smile  could'st  thou  see  him  now !" 

7.  But  nearer  came  the  clash  of  steel, 
<  And  louder  swelled  the  horn. 
And  farther  yet  the  tambour's  peal 

Through  the  dark  pass  was  borne. 

8.  "  Hear'st  thou  the  sound  of  their  savage  mirth  ? — 

Boy,  thou  wert  free  when  I  gave  thee  birth, — 
Free,  and  how  cherished  my  warrior's  son  ! 
He,  too,  hath  blessed  thee,  as  I  have  done  ! 
Aye,  and  unchain'd  must  his  loved  ones  be  — 
Freedom,  young  Suliote,  for  thee  and  me  !" 

9.  And  from  the  arrowy  peak  she  sprung. 

And  fast  the  fair  'child  bore : — 
A  vail  upon  the  wind  was  flung, 
A  cry,  (j).)  and  all  was  o'er ! 

Questions. — 1.  Why  the  rising  inflection  on  babe,  4th  verse,  and  on 
b6y  and  Suliote,  8th  verse  ?  2.  Why  the  rising  inflections  in  the  2d 
verse. 


90  SANDERS'    NEW     SERIES. 


EXERCISE   XIX. 

1.  Pic-tur-esque'  (from  the  Italian  Pittoreseo)  signifies,  literally, 
painter-like,  or  picture-like,  and  is  used  conventionally  to  denote  all 
those  objects,  or  combinations  of  objects,  which,  in  form  and  color, 
are  suitable  for  pictorial  representation. 

2.  Av'-A-LANCHE  (French  avaler,  to  descend)  is  a  snow-slip ;  that  is, 
a  mass  of  snow  collected  on  the  bights  of  a  mountain,  and  gradually 
sliding  down  by  the  force  of  its  own  weight.  It  often  descend* 
with  destructive  energy,  bringing  down  with  it  all  the  ground  on 
which  it  lies,  together  with  trees,  rocks,  &c.,  Ac. 

8.  Pet'-ri-fied  (from  petki,  stone,  and  fied,  made)  signifies  made,  or 
changed  into  stone. 

VALLEYS  OF  LEBANON. 

LAMARTDTE. 

1.  After  a  ride  of  two  hours,  we  reached  a  deeper,  nar- 
rower, and  more  picturesque^  valley  than  any  we  had  yet 
traversed.  Right  and  left  arose,  like  two  perpendicular  ram- 
parts, three  or  four  hundred  feet  high,  two  chains  of  moun- 
tains, which  appeared  to  have  been  recently  separated  from 
each  other  by  a  blow  from  the  Great  Framer  of  worlds,  or, 
perhaps,  by  the  earthquake  which  shook  Lebanon  to  its  foun- 
dation, when  the  Son  of  Man,  rendering  up  his  soul  to  God, 
not  far  from  these  mountains,  gave  that  last  sigh  which  re- 
pelled the  spirit  of  error,  and  oppression,  and  falsehood,  and 
breathed  virtue,  liberty,  and  life  into  a  renovated  world. 

2.  Gigantic  blocks,  loosened  from  each  side  of  the  moun- 
tains, and  scattered  like  pebbles  by  the  hands  of  children  into 
the  stream,  formed  the  horrid,  deep,  vast,  and  rugged  bed  of 
this  dried-up  torrent ;  some  of  whose  stones  were  masses 
higher  and  larger  than  the  loftiest  houses. 

3.  Some  rested  firmly  on  their  bases,  like  solid  and  ever- 
lasting cubes ;  some,  suspended  by  their  angles,  and  sup- 
ported by  the  pressure  of  other  invisible  rocks,  seemed  as 
though  still  in  the  act  of  falling  and  rolling  downward,  pre- 
senting the  appearance  of  ruin  in  action — a  perpetual  falling, 


YOUNG    LADIES'     READER.  91 

a  chaos  of  stones,  an  endless  avalanche"  of  rocks — rocks  of 
somber  gray,  streaked  with  flame-color  and  white  opaque — 
the  petrified^  waves  of  a  granite  flood  :  not  one  drop  of  wa- 
ter in  the  deep  interstices  of  this  bed,  calcined  by  the  burn- 
ing sun  of  Syria ;  not  a  blade  of  grass,  a  stalk,  or  creeping 
plant,  either  in  the  torrent  or  in  the  cracked  and  abrupt  de- 
clivities on  each  side  of  the  abyss. 

4.  It  was  an  ocean  of  stones,  a  cataract  of  rocks,  to  which 
the  diversity  of  their  forms,  the  variety  of  their  positions,  the 
singularity  of  their  appearances,  the  play  of  light  and  shade 
on  their  sides  and  surfaces,  seemed  to  impart  motion  and 
fluidity. 

5.  We  followed  this  valley  of  lamentations  for  two  hours, 
with  no  other  variation  in  the  scene  than  that  arising  from  the 
circuitous  route  which  the  torrent  itself  took  among  the  moun- 
tains, or  by  the  manner,  more  or  less  striking,  with  which  the 
rocks  were  grouped  in  their  foaming  stony  bed. 

6.  This  valley  will  never  be  effaced  from  my  imagination. 
This  country  must  have  been  the  primitive  land,  the  land  of 
tragic  poesy  and  human  lamentations  ;  the  pathetic  and  lofty 
strain  of  prophecies  is  felt  here  in  its  wild,  pathetic,  and  lofty 
nature.  All  the  images  of  Biblical  poetry  are  engraved  in 
imposing  characters  on  the  furrowed  surface  of  Lebanon  and 
its  gilded  summits,  its  valleys,  through  which  the  streams 
peacefully  flow — valleys  mute  and  lifeless. 

7.  The  divine  spirit,  the  superhuman  inspiration,  which  has 
passed  over  the  souls  and  the  harps  of  the  poetic  nation,  to 
whom  God  spake  by  symbols  and  images,  thus  struck  more 
forcibly  the  eyes  of  bards  devoted  to  God  from  their  infancy, 
and  nourished  them  with  a  sustenance  more  invigorating  than 
that  on  which  we  feed  ;  we^  the  wasted  and  aged  heirs  of  the 
harp  of  antiquity,  who  have  only  before  our  eyes  nature, 
mild,  beautiful,  and  cultivated — nature  civilized  but  wither 
ed,  as  we  are  ourselves. 


92  SANDERS'     NEW     SERIES 


EXERCISE  XX, 

1.  Am-phi-the'-a-ter,  (from  amphi,  about,  and  theater,  a  place  for 
seeing,)  was  an  edifice  enclosing  a  space  entirely  encompassed  by 
rows  of  seats  rising  one  behind  the  other.  It  was  oval  in  shape,  and 
designed  for  the  exhibition  of  public  shows  of  gladiators  and  wild 
beasts. 

2.  Co-Los'-SAL,  (from  Colossus,  an  enormous  ancient  statue  at  Rhodes,^ 
denotes  any  thing  of  enormous  or  vast  dimensions. 

8.  Pe'-tra,  (literally,  a  rock  or  stone^  a  celebrated  ancient  city  in 
the  north  of  Arabia.     Its  ruins  still  exist. 

RUINS  OF  COPAN  AND  PALENQUE. 

JOHN   L.    STEPHENS. 

1.  We  returned  to  the  base  of  the  pyramidal  structure, 
and  ascended  by  regular  stone  steps,  in  some  places  forced 
apart  by  bushes  and  saplings,  and  in  others  thrown  down  by 
the  growth  of  large  trees,  while  some  remained  entire.  lu 
parts  they  were  ornamented  with  sculptured  figures  and  rows 
of  death's  heads.  Climbing  over  the  ruined  top,  wo  reachedl 
a  terrace  overgrown  with  trees,  and,  crossing  it,  descended  by 
stone  steps  into  an  area  so  covered  with  trees,  that  at  first 
we  could  not  make  out  its  form,  but  which,  on  clearing  tho- 
way  with  the  machete,  we  ascertained  to  be  a  square,  and 
with  steps  on  all  the  sides  almost  as  perfect  as  those  of  the 
Roman  amphitheater.^ 

2.  The  steps  were  ornamented  with  sculpture,  and  on  the 
south  side,  about  half  way  up,  forced  out  of  its  place  by 
roots,  was  a  collossaP  head,  evidently  a  portrait.  We 
ascended  these  steps,  and  reached  a  broad  terrace  a  hun- 
dred feet  high,  overlooking  the  river,  and  supported  by  the 
wall  which  we  had  seen  from  the  opposite  bank.  The  whole 
terrace  was  covered  with  trees,  and,  even  at  this  hight  from 
the  ground,  were  two  gigantic  Ceibas,  or  wild  cotton  trees  of 
India,  above  twenty  feet  in  circumference,  extending  their 
half-naked  roots  fifty  or  a  hundred  feet  around,  binding  down 


YOUNG    LADIES'   READER.  93 


the  ruins,  and  shading  them  with  their  wide-spreading 
branches. 

3.  We  sat  down  on  the  very  edge  of  the  wall,  and  strove 
in  vain  to  penetrate  the  mystery  by  which  we  were  surround- 
ed. Who  were  the  people  that  built  this  city  1  In  the  ruined 
cities  of  Egypt,  even  in  the  long-lost  Petra'',  the  stranger 
knows  the  story  of  the  people  whose  vestiges  are  around  him. 
America,  say  historians,  was  peopled  by  savages  ;  but  savages 
never  reared  these  structures,  savages  never  carved  these 
stones.  We  asked  the  Indians  who  made  them,  and  their 
dull  answer  was,  "  Quien  sabe  ?" — "  Who  knows  1" 

4.  There  were  no  associations  connected  with  the  place ; 
none  of  those  stirring  recollections  which  hallow  Rome, 
Athens,  and 

"  The  world's  great  mistress  on  the  Egyptian  plain ;" 

but  architecture,  sculpture,  and  painting,  all  the  arts  which 
embellish  life,  had  flourished  in  this  overgrown  forest; 
orators,  warriors,  and  statesmen,  beauty,  ambition,  and  glory, 
had  lived  and  passed  away,  and  none  knew  that  such  things 
had  been,  or  could  tell  of  their  past  existence.  Books,  the 
records  of  knowledge,  are  silent  on  this  theme. 

5.  The  city  was  desolate.  It  lay  before  us  like  a  shattered 
bark  in  the  midst  of  the  ocean,  her  masts  gone,  her  name  ef- 
faced, her  crew  perished,  and  none  to  tell  whence  she  came, 
to  whom  she  belonged,  how  long  on  her  voyage,  or  what 
caused  her  destruction  ;  her  lost  people  to  be  traced  only  by 
some  fancied  resemblance  in  the  construction  of  the  vessel,  and, 
perhaps,  never  to  be  known  at  all.  The  place  where  we  sat, 
was  it  a  citadel  from  which  an  unknown  people  had  sounded 
the  trumpet  of  war  1  or  a  temple  for  the  worship  of  the  God 
of  peace  ?  or  did  the  inhabitants  worship  the  idols  made  with 
their  own  hands,  and  offer  sacrifices  on  the  stones  before 
them  1 

6.  All  was  mystery,  dark,  impenetrable  mystery — and 
every   circumstance   increased    it.     In   Egypt,   the  colossal 


94  SANDERS'  NEW    SERIES. 


skeletons  of  gigantic  temples  stand  in  the  unwatered  sands  in 
all  the  nakedness  of  desolation ;  here,  an  immense  forest 
shrouded  the  ruins,  hiding  them  from  sight,  hightening  the 
impression  and  moral  effect,  and  giving  an  intensity  and  al- 
most wildness  to  the  interest.  *         *         ♦         * 

7.  Here  were  the  remains  of  a  cultivated,  polished,  and 
peculiar  people,  who  had  passed  through  all  the  stages  inci- 
dent to  the  rise  and  fall  of  nations ;  reached  their  golden  age, 
and  perished,  entirely  unknown.  The  links  which  connected 
them  with  the  human  family  were  severed  and  lost,  and  these 
were  the  only  memorials  of  their  footsteps  upon  earth.  We 
lived  in  the  ruined  palace  of  their  kings  ;  we  went  up  to  their 
desolate  temples  and  fallen'iiltars  ;  and,  wherever  we  moved, 
we  saw  the  evidences  of  their  taste,  their  skill  in  arts,  their 
wealth,  and  power. 

8.  In  the  midst  of  desolation  and  ruin,  we  looked  back  to 
the  past,  cleared  away  the  gloomy  forest,  and  fancied  every 
building  perfect,  with  its  terraces  and  pyramids,  its  sculp- 
tured and  painted  ornaments,  grand,  lofty,  and  imposing,  and 
overlooking  an  immense  inhabited  plain  ;  we  called  back  into 
life  the  strange  people  who  gazed  at  us  in  sadness  from  the 
walls  ;. pictured  them  in  fanciful  costumes  and  adorned  with 
plumes  of  feathers,  ascending  the  terraces  of  the  palace,  and 
the  steps  leading  to  the  temples,  and  often  we  imagined  a 
scene  of  unique  and  gorgeous  beauty  and  magnificence. 

9.  In  the  romance  of  the  world's  history,  nothing  ever  im- 
pressed me  more  forcibly  than  the  spectacle  of  this  once 
great  and  lovely  city,  overturned,  desolate,  and  lost ;  discov- 
ered by  accident,  overgrown  with  trees  for  miles  around,  and 
without  even  a  name  to  distinguish  it.  Apart  from  every 
thing  else,  it  was  a  mourning  witness  to  the  world's  mu- 
tations. 

Questions. — 1.  What  rule  for  the  rising  inflection  on  war,  and  the 
falling  inflection  on  peace,  hands,  and  thein,  5th  paragraph  ?  2.  What 
rule  for  the  rising  inflection  on  wealth,  Yth  paragraph. 


YOUKG     LADIES'  READER.  96 


EXERCISE    XXI. 

1.  Hoe'o-loge  (horo,  hour,  and  loge,  that  which  tells  or  notes,)  is  from 
t'wo  Greek  words  signifying,  together,  that  which  tells  the  hour  ;  that 
is,  a  sun-Sial ;  a  clock ;  a  timepiece. 

THE  OLD  CLOCK  ON  THE  STAIRS. 

HENET   W.    lONOTKLLOW. 

1.  Somewhat  back  from  the  village  street 
Stands  the  old-fashioned  country-seat. 
Across  its  antique  portico 

Tall  poplar  trees  their  shadows  throw; 
And  from  its  station  in  the  hall, 
An  ancient  timepiece  says  to  all, — 
(si.)     "  Forever — ^never  ! 
Never — forever !" 

2.  Half-way  up  the  stairs  it  stands. 

And  points  and  beckons  with  its  bands 
From  its  case  of  massive  oak. 
Like  a  monk,  who,  under  his  cloak, 
Crosses  himself,  and  sighs,  alas  ! 
With  sorrowful  voice  to  all  who  pasSj — 
(si.)     "  Forever — ^never  ! 
Never — forever !" 

8.  By  day  its  voice  is  low  and  light ; 
But,  in  the  silent  dead  of  night, 
Distinct  as  a  passing  footstep's  fall, 
It  echoes  along  the  vacant  hall, 
Along  the  ceiling,  along  the  floor. 
And  seems  to  say  at  each  chamber-d6or,— 
(si.)     "  Forever — ^never  ! 
Never — forever !" 

4.  Through  days  of  sorrow  and  of  mirth. 
Through  days  of  death  and  days  of  birth, 


W  SANDEES'     NEW     SERIES, 

Through  every  swift  vicissitude 
Of  changeful  time,  unchanged  it  has  stood, 
And  as  if,  like  God,  it  all  things  saw, 
It  calmly  repeats  those  words  of  awe, — 
[si)     "  Forever— never  ! 
Never — forever !" 

5.  In  that  mansion  used  to  be 
Free-hearted  Hospitality ; 

His  great  fires  up  the  chimney  roared ; 
The  stranger  feasted  at  his  board  ; 
But,  like  the  skeleton  at  the  feast. 
That  warning  timepiece  never  ceased, — 
(si.)     "  Forever — never  ! 
Never — forever !" 

6.  There  groups  of  merry  children  played, 
There  youths  and  maidens  dreaming  strayed; 
O  precious  hdurs  !   O  golden  prime. 

And  affluence  of  love  and  time  ! 
Even  as  a  miser  counts  his  gold, 
Those  hours  the  ancient  timepiece  t61d,— ^ 
(si.)     "  Forever — never ! 
Never — forever !" 

7.  From  that  chamber,  clothed  in  white, 

(")  The  bride  came  forth  on  her  wedding  night ; 

There,  in  that  silent  room  below, 
(j>L)  The  dead  lay  in  his  shroud  of  snow ; 

And  in  the  hush  that  followed  the  prayer, 
Was  heard  the  old  clock  on  the  stair, — 
(sL)     "  Forever — ^never  ! 

Never — forever  !"  / 

8.  All  are  scattered  now  and  fled. 
Some  are  married,  some  are  dead ; 


YOUNG    LADIES'  KEADEE.  97 

And  when  I  ask,  with  throbs  of  pain, 
{pi)  "  Ah  !  when  shall  they  all  meet  again  1" 
As  in  the  days  long  since  gone  by, 
The  ancient  timepiece  makes  reply', — • 
{si.)     "  Forever — never  ! 
Never — forever  !" 

9.  Never  here,  forever  ikere, 

Where  all  parting,  pain,  and  care. 
And  death,  and  time  shall  disappear,— 
Forever  there,  but  never  here  ! 
The  horologe^  of  Eternity 
Sayeth  this  incessantly, — 
{si.)     "  Forever — never  ! 
Never — forever  !" 

Questions. — I.  How,  a'ccording  to  the  notation  marks,  should  the 
vfoxdA  forever — never  be  read  ?  See  page  40.  2.  How  should  the  4th 
lines  of  the  Yth  and  8th  stanzas  be  read  ?  3.  Why  the  falling  inflec- 
tion on  hours,  prime,  and  time,  6th  stanza  ?  See  Rule  VHI.,  page  3L 
4.  On  what  principle  are  the  words  here  and  there  emphatic,  9th 
Btanza?    See  note  VIL,  page  22. 


EXERCISE    XXII. 
FORGIVE  AND  FORGET. 

M.  FAEQUHAB,   rUPPKB. 

1.  When  streams  of  unkindness  as  bitter  as  gall, 
Bubble  up  from  the  heart  to  the  tongue. 
And  Meekness  is  writhing  in  torment  and  thrall, 

By  the  hand  of  Ingratitude  wrung, — 
In  the  heat  of  injustice,  unwept  and  unfair. 

While  the  anguish  is  festering  yet, 
None,  none  but  an  angel,  or  God,  can  declare, 
"  I  now  can  forgive  and  forget.'* 
5 


98  SANDERS'   NEW    SERIES. 

2.  But,  if  the  bad  spirit  is  chased  fi'om  the  heart, 

And  the  lips  are  in  penitence  steeped. 
With  the  wrong  so  repented,  the  wrath  will  depart, 

Though  scorn  on  injustice  were  heaped  ; 
For  the  best  compensation  is  paid  for  all  ill, 

When  the  cheek  with  contrition  is  wet. 
And  every  one  feels  it  is  possible  still, 

At  once  to  forgive  and  forget. 

3.  To  forget  1     It  is  hard  for  a  man  with  a  mind. 

However  his  heart  may  forgive, 
To  blot  out  all  perils  and  dangers  behind, 

And  but  for  the  future  to  live  : 
Then  how  shall  it  be  ?  for  at  every  turn 

Recollection  the  spirit  will  fret. 
And  the  ashes  of  injury  smoulder  and  burn. 

Though  we  strive  to  forgive  and  forget. 


4.  O,  hearken !  my  tongue  shall  the  riddle  unseal. 

And  mind  shall  be  partner  with  heart. 
While  thee  to  thyself  I  bid  conscience  reveal. 

And  show  thee  how  evil  thou  art. 
Remember  thy  follies,  thy  sins,  and  thy  crimes. 

How  vast  is  that  infinite  debt ! 
Yet  Mercy  hath  seven  by  seventy  times 

Been  swift  to  forgive  and  forget ! 


5.  Brood  not  on  insults  or  injuries  old. 

For  thou  art  injurious  too  ; 
Count  not  their  sum,  till  the  total  is  told. 

For  thou  art  unkind  and  untrue ; 
And,  if  all  thy  harms  are  forgotten,  forgiven, 

Now  mercy  with  justice  is  met, 
O,  who  would  not  gladly  take  lessons  of  Heaven, 

Nor  learn  to  forgive  and  forget  ? 


YOUNG    LADIES'  READER.  99 

6.  Yes,  yes ;  let  a  man,  when  his  enemy  weeps, 

Be  quick  to  receive  him,  a  friend  ; 
For  thus  on  his  head  in  kindness  he  heaps 

Hot  coals,  to  refine  and  amend  ; 
And  hearts  that  are  Christian  more  eagerly  yearn, 

As  a  nurse  on  her  innocent  pet, 
Over  lips  that,  once  bitter,  to  penitence  turn. 

And  whisper,  (p.)  Forgive  and  forget. 

Questions. — 1.  "Why  the  rising  inflection  on  forget,  3d  stanza  f  2. 
What  rule  for  the  falling  inflection  on  hearken,  4th  stanza  ?  8.  How, 
according  to  the  notation,  may  the  words /(^^ive  and /orgreJ  be  made 
emphatic,  last  line  ?    See  Remark,  page  23. 


EXERCISE   XXIII. 

BITTER  WORDS. 

1.  Would'st  thou  a  wanderer  reclaim, 
A  wild  and  restless  spirit  tame  ; 
Check  the  warm  flow  of  youthful  blood, 
And  lead  a  lost  one  back  to  God  1 
Pause,  if  the  spirit's  wrath  be  stirred, 
Speak  not  to  him  a  bitter  word, — 
Speak  not, — that  bitter  word  may  be 
The  stamp  that  seals  his  destiny. 

2.  If  widely  he  hath  gone  astray, 

And  dark  excess  has  marked  his  way ; 
'Tis  pitiful, — but  yet  beware. 
Reform  must  come  from  kindly  care. 
Forbid  thy  parting  lips  to  move, 
But  in  the  gentle  tones  of  love  ; 
Though  sadly  his  young  heart  hath  erred, 
Speak  not  to  him  a  bitter  word. 


100  SANDERS'    NEW    SERIES. 


3.  The  lowering  frown  he  will  not  bear, 
The  venomed  chidings  will  not  hear ; 
The  ardent  spirit  will  not  brook 
The  stinging  tooth  of  sharp  rebuke  ; 
Thou  would'st  not  goad  the  restless  steed, 
To  calm  his  fire  or  check  his  speed ; 
Then  let  no  angry  tones  be  heard, 
Speak  not  to  him  a  bitter  word. 

4.  Go  kindly  to  him — make  him  feel 
Your  heart  yearns  deeply  for  his  weal ; 
Tell  him  the  dangers  thick  that  lay 
Around  his  "  widely  devious  way ;" 

So  shalt  thou  win  him,  call  him  back 
From  pleasure's  smooth  seductive  track, 
And  warnings  thou  hast  mildly  given. 
May  guide  the  wanderer  up  to  Heaven. 


EXERCISE    XXIV. 
FLOWERS. 

HEITRT  WARD  BEECHER. 

1.  Blessed  be  the  man  that  really  loves  flowers  I — loves  them 
for  their  own  sake,  for  their  beauty,  their  associations,  the  joy 
they  have  given,  and  always  will  give ;  so  that  he  would  sit 
down  among  them  as  friends  and  companions,  if  there  was  not 
another  creature  on  earth  to  admire  or  praise  them  !  But  such 
men  need  no  blessing  of  mine.  They  are  blessed  of  God ! 
Did  He  not  make  the  world  for  such  men  ?  Are  they  not 
clearly  the  owners  of  the  world,  and  the  richest  of  all  men  ? 
It  is  the  end  of  art  to  inoculate  men  witli  the  love  of  nature. 
But  those  who  have  a  passion  for  nature,  in  the  natural  way, 
need  no  pictures  nor  galleries.  Spring  is  their  designer,  and 
the  whole  year  their  aitist. 

2.  He  who  only  does  not  appreciate  floral  beauty,  is  to  be 


YOUNG    ladies'    EEADEE.  101 

pitied  like  any  other  man  who  is  born  imperfect.  It  is  a  mis- 
fortune not  unlike  blindness.  But  men  who  contemptuously 
reject  flowers,  as  eflfeminate  and  unworthy  of  manhood,  reveal  a 
certain  coarseness.  Were  flowers  fit  to  eat  or  drink,  were 
they  stimulative  of  passions,  or  could  they  be  gambled  with 
like  stocks  and  public  consciences,  they  would  take  them 
up  just  where  finer  minds  woul4  drop  them,  who  love  them 
as  revelations  of  God's  sense  of  beauty,  as  addressed  to  the 
taste,  and  to  something  finer  and  deeper  than  taste,  to  that 
power  within  us,  which  spiritualizes  matter,  and  communes  with 
God  through  His  work,  and  not  for  their  paltry  market  value. 

3.  Many  persons  lose  all  enjoyment  of  many  flowers  by  in- 
dulging false  associations.  There  be  some  who  think  that  no 
weed  can  be  of  interest  as  a  flower.  But  all  flowers  are  weeds 
when  they  grow  wildly  and  abundantly ;  and  somewhere  our 
rarest  flowers  are  somebody's  commonest.  Flowers  growing  in 
noisome  places,  in  desolate  corners,  upon  rubbish,  or  rank  deso- 
lation, become  disagreeable  by  association.  Roadside  flowers, 
ineradicable,  and  hardy  beyond  all  discouragement,  lose  them- 
selves from  our  sense  of  delicacy  and  protection.  And,  gener- 
ally, there  is  a  disposition  to  undervalue  common  flowers. 
There  are  few  that  will  trouble  themselves  to  examine,  minutely, 
a  blossom  that  they  have  seen  and  neglected  from  their  child- 
hood ;  and  yet,  if  they  would  but  question  such  flowers,  and 
commune  with  them,  they  would  often  be  surprised  to  find  ex- 
treme beauty  where  it  had  long  been  overlooked. 

4.  How  one  exhales,  and  feels  his  childhood  coming  back  to 
him,  when,  emerging  from  the  hard  and  hateful  city  streets,  he 
sees  orchards  and  gardens  in  sheeted  bloom, — plum,  cherry, 
pear,  peach,  and  apple,  waves  and  billows  of  blossoms  rolling 
over  the  hill-sides,  and  down  through  the  levels !  My  heart 
runs  riot.  This  is  a  Idngdom  of  glory.  The  bees  know  it. 
Are  the  blossoms  sieging  ?  or  is  all  this  humming  sound  the 
music  of  bees  ?  The  frivolous  flies,  that  never  seem-  to  be  think- 
ing of  any  thing,  are  rather  sober  and  solemn  here.  Such  a  sight 
is  equal  to  a  sunset,  which  is  but  a  blossoming  of  the  clouds. 


102  SANDERS'    NEW    SERIES. 

5.  We  love  to  fancy  that  a  flower  is  the  point  of  transition, 
at  which  a  material  thing  touches  the  immaterial ;  it  is  the  sen- 
tient vegetable  soul.  We  ascribe  dispositions  to  it ;  we  treat 
it  as  we  would  an  innocent  child.  A  stem  or  root  has  no  sug- 
gestion of  life.  A  leaf  advances  toward  it ;  and  some  leaves 
are  as  fine  as  flowers,  and  have,  moreover,  a  grace  of  motion 
seldom  had  by  flowers.  Flowers  have  an  expression  of  counte- 
nance as  much  as  men  or  animals.  Some  seem  to  smile ; 
some  have  a  sad  expression ;  some  are  pensive  and  difiident ; 
others  again  are  plain,  honest,  and  upi-ight,  like  the  broad-faced 
sunflower  and  the  hollyhock. 

6.  We  find  ourselves  speaking  of  them  as  laughing,  as  gay 
and  coquettish,  as  nodding  and  dancing.  No  man  of  sensibil- 
ity ever  spoke  of  a  flower  as  he  would  of  a  fungus,  a  pebble,  or 
a  sponge.  Indeed,  they  are  more  life-like  than  many  animals. 
We  commune  with  flowers — we  go  to  them,  if  we  are  sad  or 
glad ;  but  a  toad,  a  worm,  an  insect,  we  repel,  as  if  real  life 
was  not  half  so  real  as  imaginary  life.  What  a  pity  flowers 
can  utter  no  sound !  A  singing  rose,  a  whispering  violet,  a 
murmuring  honeysuckle !  O,  what  a  rare  and  exquisite  mir- 
acle would  these  be ! 

T.  When  we  hear  melodious  sounds — the  wind  among  trees, 
the  noise  of  a  brook  falling  down  into  a  deep  leaf-covered 
cavity — ^birds'  notes,  especially  at  night ;  children's  voices  as 
you  ride  into  a  village  at  dusk,  far  from  your  long-absent  home, 
and  quite  home-sick ;  or  a  flute  heard  from  out  of  a  forest,  a 
silver  sound  rising  up  among  silver-lit  leaves,  into  the  moon- 
lighted air ;  or  the  low  conversations  of  persons  whom  you 
love,  that  sit  at  the  fire  in  the  room  where  you  are  convales- 
cing ; — when  we  think  of  these  things,  we  are  apt  to  imagine 
that  nothing  is  perfect,  that  has  not  the  gift  of  sound.  But  we 
change  our  mind  when  we  dwell  lovingly  among  flowers ;  for 
they  are  always  silent.  Sound  is  never  associated  with  them. 
TJjey  speak  to  you,  but  it  is  as  the  eye  speaks,  by  vibrations  of 
light  and  not  of  air. 

8.  It  is  with  flowers  as  with  friends.     Many  may  be  loved, 


READER.  103 

but  few  much  loved.  Wild  honeysuckles  in  the  wood,  laurel 
bushes  in  the  very  regality  of  bloom,  are  very  beautiful  to  you. 
But  they  are  color  and  form  only.  They  seem  strangers  to 
you.  You  have  no  memories  reposed  in  them.  They  bring 
back  nothing  from  Time.  They  point  to  nothing  in  the  future. 
But  a  wild  briar  starts  a  genial  feeling.  It  is  the  country  cousin 
of  the  rose ;  and  that  has  always  been  your  pet.  You  have 
nursed  it,  and  defended  it ;  you  have  had  it  for  companionship 
as  you  wrote  ;  it  has  stood  by  your  pillow  while  sick  ;  it  has 
brought  remembrance  to  you,  and  conveyed  your  kindest  feel- 
ings to  others.  You  remember  it  as  a  mother's  favorite ;  it 
speaks  to  you  of  your  own  childhood — that  white  rosebush 
that  snowed,  in  the  corner,  by  the  door;  that  generous  bush 
that  blushed  red  in  the  garden  with  a  thousand  flowers,  whc  se 
gorgeousness  was  among  the  first  things  that  drew  your  chil  1- 
ish  eye,  and  which  always  comes  up  before  you  when  ycu 
speak  of  childhood. 

9.  But  no  flower  can  be  so  strange,  or  so  new,  that  a  friend- 
liness does  not  spring  up  at  once  between  you.  You  gather 
them  up  along  your  rambles ;  and  sit  down  to  make  their  ac- 
quaintance on  some  shaded  bank  with  your  feet  over  the  brook, 
where  your  shoes  feed  their  vanity  as  in  a  mirror.  You  assort 
them  ;  you  question  their  graces ;  you  enjoy  their  odor ;  you 
range  them  on  the  grass  in  a  row,  and  look  from  one  to  an- 
other ;  you  gather  them  up,  and  study  a  fit  gradation  of  colors, 
and  search  for  new  specimens  to  fill  the  degrees  between  too 
violent  extremes.  All  the  while,  and  it  is  a  long  while,  if  the 
day  be  gracious  and  leisure  ample,  various  suggestions  and 
analogies  of  life  are  darting  in  and  out  of  your  mind. 

10.  This  flower  is  like  some  friend  ;  another  reminds  you  of 
mignonnette,  and  mignonnette  always  makes  you  think  of  such 
a  garden  and  mansion  where  it  enacted  some  memorable  part ; 
and  that  flower  conveys  some  strange  and  unexpected  resem- 
blance to  certain  events  of  society  ;  this  one  is  a  bold  soldier  ; 
that  one  is  a  sweet  lady  dear ; — the  white  flowering  bloodroot, 
trooping  up  by  the  side  of  a  decaying  log,  recalls  to  your  fancy 


104  SANDERS'    NEW    SERIES. 

a  band  of  white  bannered  knights ;  and  so  your  pleased  atten- 
tion strays  through  a  thousand  vagaries  of  fi.incy,  or  memory, 
or  vaticinating  hope. 

11.  It  is  a  matter  of  gratitude  that  this  finest  gift  of  Provi- 
dence is  the  most  profusely  given.  Flowers  can  not  be  monop- 
olized. The  poor  can  have  them  as  much  as  the  rich.  It  does 
not  require  such  an  education  to  love  and  appreciate  them,  as 
it  would  to  admire  a  picture  of  Turner's,  or  a  statue  of  Thor- 
waldsen's.  And,  as  they  are  messengers  of  aflfection,  tokens  of 
remembrance,  and  presents  of  beauty,  of  universal  acceptance, 
it  is  pleasant  to  think  that  all  men  recognize  a  brief  brother- 
hood in  them.  It  is  not  impertinent  to  offer  flowers  to  a 
stranger.  The  poorest  child  can  proffer  them  to  the  richest. 
A  hundred  persons  turned  together  into  a  meadow  full  of 
flowers  would  be  drawn  together  in  a  transient  brotherhood. 

12.  It  is  affecting  to  see  how  serviceable  flowers  often  are  to 
the  necessities  of  the  poor.  If  they  bring  their  little  floral 
gift  to  you,  it  can  not  but  touch  your  heart  to  think  that  their 
grateful  afiection  longed  to  express  itself  as  much  as  yours. 
You  have  books,  or  gems,  or  services  that  you  can  render  as 
you  will.  The  poor  can  give  but  little,  and  do  but  little. 
Were  it  not  for  flowers,  they  would  be  shut  out  from  those  ex- 
quisite pleasures  which  spring  from  such  gifts.  I  never  take 
one  from  a  child,  or  from  the  poor,  that  I  do  not  thank  God  in 
their  behalf  for  flowers  ! 


EXERCISE  XXV. 

1.  Ho'-MEK,  a  celebrated  poet  of  antiquity,  who  lived  about  the  9th 
century  before  the  Christian  era.  Seven  cities  disputed  for  the  honor 
of  being  his  birth-place.  His  great  works  are  the  Iliad,  which  treats 
of  the  siege  of  Ilium,  or  ancient  Troy,  and  the  Odyssey,  which  has 
for  its  subject  the  return  of  Ulysses,  a  great  Grecian  hero,  from  Troy 
to  Ithaca,  his  native  country. 

2.  Hec'-tor,  son  of  Priam,  King  of  Troy,  was  the  bravest  of  all  the 
Trojan  chiefs  that  fought  against  the  Greeks  during  the  ten  years'  siege 


YOUNG    LADIES'     READER.  105 

8.  An-drom'-a-che,  wife  of  the  celebrated  Trojan,  Hector,  was  re- 
markable for  her  domestic  virtues,  and  for  the  constancy  of  her  at- 
tachment to  her  husband.     See  Exercise  CVL,  p.  305. 

DOMESTIC    LIFE. 

VICESmUS  KXOX 

1.  An  active  life  is  exposed  to  many  evils  which  can  not 
reach  a  state  of  retirement ;  but  it  is  found,  by  the  uniform 
experience  of  mankind,  to  be,  upon  the  whole,  productive  of 
the  most  happiness.  All  are  found  desirous  of  avoiding  the 
listlessness  of  an  unemployed  condition.  Without  the  in- 
centives of  ambition,  of  fame,  of  interestj  of  emulation,  men 
eagerly  rush  upon  hazardous  and  painful  enterprises.  There  is 
a  quick  succession  of  ideas,  a  warm  flow  of  spirits,  an  animated 
sensation,  consequent  on  exertion,  v/hich  amply  compensates 
the  chagrin  of  disappointment  and  the  fatigue  of  attention. 

2.  One  of  the  most  useful  effects  of  action  is,  that  it  renders 
repose  agreeable.  Perpetual  rest  is  pain  of  the  most  intol- 
erable kind.  But  a  judicious  interchange  of  rest  and  motion, 
of  indolent  enjoyment  and  strenuous  efforts,  gives  a  true 
relish  of  life,  which,  when  too  tranquil,  is  insipid,  and,  when 
too  much  agitated,  disgustful. 

3.  This  sweet  repose,  which  is  necessary  to  restore,  by  re- 
laxing the  tone  of  the  weary  mind,  has  been  sought  for  by 
the  wisest  and  greatest  of  men  at  their  own  fireside.  Sena- 
tors and  heroes  have  shut  out  the  acclamations  of  an  applauding 
world,  to  enjoy  the  prattling  of  their  little  ones,  and  to  partake 
the  endearments  of  family  conversation.  They  knew  that  even 
their  best  friends,  in  the  common  intercourse  of  life,  were  in 
some  degree  actuated  by  interested  motives  in  displaying 
their  affection  ;  that  many  of  their  followers  applauded  them  in 
hopes  of  reward ;  and  that  the  giddy  multitude,  however  zealous, 
were  not  always  judicious  in  their  approbation.  But  the  at- 
tentions paid  them  at  their  fireside,  the  smiles  which  exhilarated 
their  own  table,  were  the  genuine  result  of  undissembled  love. 

4.  The  nursery  has  often  alleviated  the  fatigues  of  the  bar 
and  the  senate-house.     Nothing  contributes  more  to  raise  the 

6* 


m 


106  SANDEBS'    NEW    SERIES. 

gently-pleasing  emotions  than  the  view  of  infant  innocence, 
enjoying  the  raptures  of  a  game  at  play.  All  the  sentiments 
of  micontrolled  nature  display  themselves  to  the  view,  and 
furnish  matter  for  agreeable  reflection  to  the  mind  of  the 
philosophical  observer. 

5.  To  partake  with  children  in  their  little  pleasures,  is  by 
no  means  unmanly.  It  is  one  of  the  purest  sources  of  mirth. 
It  has  an  influence  in  amending  the  heart,  which  necessarily 
takes  a  tincture  from  the  company  that  surrounds  us.  Inno- 
cence as  well  as  guilt  is  communicated,  and  increased  by  the 
contagion  of  example.  And  the  great  author  of  evangelical 
philosophy  has  taught  us  to  emulate  the  .simplicity  of  the  in- 
fantine age.  He  seems,  indeed,  himself  to  have  been  delighted 
with  young  children,  aud  found  in  them,  what  he  in  vain 
sought  among  those  who  judged  themselves  their  superiors, 
unpolluted  purity  of  heart. 

6.  Among  the  great  variety  of  pictures  which  the  vivid 
imagination  of  Homer'  has  displayed  throughout  the  Iliad, 
there  is  not  one  more  pleasing  than  the  family  piece  which 
represents  the  parting  interview  between  Hector''  and  Androm- 
ache.^ It  deeply  interests  the  heart  while  it  delights  the 
imagination.  The  hero  ceases  to  be  terrible,  that  he  may  be- 
come amiable.  We  admire  him  while  he  stands  completely 
armed  in  the  field  of  battle ;  but  we  love  him  more  while  he 
is  taking  off"  his  helmet,  that  he  roay  not  frighten  his  little  boy 
with  its  nodding  plumes. 

7.  We  are  refreshed  wik  ae  tender  scene  of  domestic 
love,  while  all  around  breathtt  rage  and  discord.  We  are 
pleased  to  see  the  arm  which  is  shortly  to  deal  death  and 
destruction  among  a  host  of  foes,  employed  in  caressing  an 
infant  son  with  the  embraces  of  paternal  love.  A  professed 
critic  would  attribute  the  pleasing  effect  entirely  to  contrast ; 
but  the  heart  has  declared,  previously  to  the  inquiries  of 
criticism,  that  it  is  chiefly  derived  from  the  satisfaction  which 
we  naturally  take  in  beholding  great  characters  engaged  in 
tender  and  amiable  employments. 


YOUNG     LADIES'     READER  107 


EXERCISE    XXVI. 

SCENE   FROM    WILLIAM   TELL. 

JAMES   SHERIDAN   KNOWLKS. 

Emma.  I  never  knew  a  weary  night  before  ! 
I  have  seen  the  sun  a  dozen  times  go  down, 
And  still  no  William, — and  the  storm  was  on, 
Yet  have  I  laid  me  down  in  peace  to  sleep, 
The  mountain  with  the  lightning  all  a-blaze, 
And  shaking  with  the  thunder, — ^but  to-night 
Mine  eyes  refuse  to  close,     {si.)  The  old  man  rests  : 
Pain  hath  outworn  itself,  and  turn'd  to  ease. 
How  deadly  calm 's  the  night !    (")  What 's  that ?    I'm  grown 
An  idiot  with  my  fears.     I  do  not  know 
The  avalanche !     Great  Power  that  hurls  it  down, 
Watch  o'er  my  boy,  and  guide  his  little  steps  ! 
What  keeps  him  ?  'tis  but  four  hours'  journey  hence  : 
He  'd  rest ;  then  four  hours  back  again.      What  keeps  him  f 
Erni  would  sure  be  found  by  him — he  knows 
The  track,  well  as  he  knows  the  road  to  Altorf ! 

Melchtal.  Help  !  {in  his  sleep.) 

Emma.  What 's  the  matter  1    Only  the  old  man  dreaming : 
He  thinks  again  they  're  pulling  out  his  eyes. 
I  'm  sick  with  terror  !     Merciful  powers  !  what 's  this 
That  fills  my  heart  with  horrible  alarm  1  • 

And  yet  it  can  not  see. 

Melch.  {waking.)  Where  am  II 

Emma.  Father ! 

Melch.  My  daughter,  is  it  thou !   Thank  Heaven,  I  'm  here  I 
Is  't  day  yet  ? 

Emma.     No. 

Melch.  Is  't  far  on  the  night ! 

Emma.  Methinks,  about  the  turn  on 't 

Melch.  Is  the  boy 
Come  back  1  ■ 

Emma.  No,  father.  


108  SANDERS'     NEW     SERIES. 

Melch.  Nor  thy  husband  1 

Emma.  No. 

Melch.  A  woeful  wife  and  mother  have  I  made  thee ! 
Would  thou  hadst  never  seen  me. 

Emma.  Father ! 

Melch.  Child ! 

Emma.  Methinks  I  hear  a  step ! — ^Ido!  {JcnocJcing.)  A  knock! 

Melch.  'Tis  William ! 

Emma.  No  ;  it  is  not  William's  knock.     { Opens  the  door.) 
I  told  you  so.     Your  will  ? 

Enter  Stranger. 

Stran.  Seeing  a  light, 
I  e'en  made  bold  to  knock,  to  ask  for  shelter ; 
For  I  have  miss'd  my  way. 

Emma.  Whence  come  you,  friend  1 

Stran.  From  Altorf. 

Emma.  Altorf!   Any  news  from  thence  ? 

Stran.  Aye  !   News  to  harrow  parents'  hearts,  and  make 
The  barren  bless  themselves  that  they  are  childless  ! 

Emma.  May  Heaven  preserve  my  boy  ! 

Melch.  What  say'st  thy  news  ? 

Stran.  Art  thou  not  Melchtal — he  whose  eyes,  'tis  said, 
The  tyrant  has  torn  out  ? 

Melch.  Yes,  friend,  the  same. 

Stran.  Is  this  thy  cottage  % 

Melch.  No  ;  'tis  William  Tell's. 

Stran.  'Tis  William  Tell's — and  that 's  his  wife — Good  night ! 

Emma.  {Rushing  between  him  and  the  door.) 
Thou  stirr'st  not  hence  until  thy  news  be  told ! 

Stran.  My  news  !   In  sooth  'tis  nothing  thou  wouldst  heed. 

Emma.  'Tis  something  none  should  heed  so  well  as  I ! 

Stran.  I  must  be  gone. 

Emma.  Thou  seest  a  tigress,  friend, 
^poil'd  of  her  mate  and  young,  and  yearning  for  them. 
Don't  th'vfart  her !    Come,  thy  news !   What  fear'st  thou,  man  'i 


YOUNG    LADIES'  READER.  109 

What  more  has  she  to  dread,  who  reads  thy  looks, 

And  knows  the  most  has  come  ?     Thy  news !     Is 't  bondage  1 

Stran,  It  is. 

Emma.  Thank  Heaven,  it  is  not  death  !     Of  one — 
Or  two  1 

Stran.  Of  two. 

Emma.  A  father  and  a  son  % 
Is't  not? 

Stran.  It  is. 

Emma.  My  husband  and  my  son 
Are  in  the  tyrant's  power !     There 's  worse  than  that ! 
What 's  that  is  news  to  harrow  parents'  breasts, 
The  which  the  thought  to  only  tell,  'twould  seem, 
Drives  back  the  blood  to  thine  ? — Thy  news,  I  say  ! 
Wouldst  thou  be  merciful,  this  is  not  mercy  ! 
Wast  thou  the  mark,  friend,  of  the  bowman's  aim, 
Wouldst  thou  not  have  the  fatal  arrow  speed. 
Rather  than  watch  it  hanging  in  the  string 
Thou  'It  drive  me  mad  !     Let  fly  at  once  ! 

Melch.  Thy  news  from  Altorf,  friend,  whate'er  it  is ! 

Stran.  To  save  himself  and  child  from  certain  death, 
Tell  is  to  hit  an  apple,  to  be  placed 
Upon  the  stripling's  head. 

Melch.  My  child  !  my  child  ! 
Speak  to  me  !     Stranger,  hast  thou  killed  her  I 

Emma.  No ! 
No,  father.      I  'm  the  wife  of  William  Tell ; 
Oh,  but  to  be  a  man !  to  have  an  arm 
To  fit  a  heart  swelling  with  the  sense  of  wrong ! 
Unnatural — insufferable  wrong  ! 
When  makes  the  tyrant  trial  of  his  skill  1 

Stran.  To-morrow. 

Emma.  Spirit  of  the  lake  and  hill. 
Inspire  thy  daugnter !     On  the  head  of  him 
Who  makes  his  pastime  of  a  mother's  pangs, 


110  SANDERS'  NEW    SERIES. 

>  Launch  down  thy  vengeance  loj  a  mother's  hand. 

Know'st  the  signal  when  the  hills  shall  rise  ?     {To  Melchtal.) 

Melch.  Are  they  to  rise  % 

Emma.  I  see  thou  knowest  naught. 

Stran,  Something  's  on  foot !     'Twas  only  yesterday, 
That,  traveling  from  our  canton,  I  espied 
Slow  toiling  up  a  steep,  a  mountaineer 
Of  brawny  limb,  upon  his  back  a  load 
Of  faggots  bound.     Curious  to  see  what  end 
Was  worthy  of  such  labor,  after  him 
•  I  took  the  cliff;  and  saw  its  lofty  top 
Receive  his  load,  which  went  but  to  augment 
A  pile  of  many  another. 

Emma.  'Tis  by  fire  ! 
Fire  is  the  signal  for  the  hills  to  rise  !      (Bushes  out.) 

Melch.  Went  she  not  forth  ? 

Stran.  She  did — she 's  here  again, 
And  brings  with  her  a  lighted  brand. 

Melch.  My  child, 
What  dost  thou  with  a  lighted  brand  1 

(Re-enter  Emma  with  a  brand.) 

Emma.  Prepare 
To  give  the  signal  for  the  hills  to  rise  ! 

Melch.  Where  are  the  faggots,  child,  for  such  a  blaze  % 

Emma.  I  '11  find  the  faggots,  father.     (Exit.) 

Melch.  She 's  gone 
Again  ! 

Stran.  She  is — I  think  into  her  chamber. 

Emma.  (Rushing  in.) — Father,  the  pile  is  fired  ! 

Melch.  What  pile,  my  child  1 

Emma.  The  joists  and  rafters  of  our  cottage,  father  ! 

Melch.  Thou  hast  not  fired  thy  cottage  1 — but  thou  hast ! 
Alas,  I  hear  the  crackling  of  the  flames  ! 

Emma.  Say'st  thou,  alas !  when  I  do  say,Jdiank  Heaven  ? 
Father,  this  blaze  will  set  the  land  a-blaze 
With  fire  that  shall  preserve,  and  not  destroy  it. 


YOUNG     LADIES'   READER.  Ill 

Blaze  on  !  blaze  on  !     O,  may'st  thou  be  a  beacon 

To  light  its  sons  enslaved  to  liberty  I 

How  fast  it  spreads  !     A  spirit 's  in  the  fire  : 

It  knows  the  work  it  does. — (  Goes  to  the  door,  and  opens  it.) 

The  land  is  free  ! 
Yonder 's  another  blaze  !     Beyond  that,  shoots 
A.nother  up  ! — Anon  will  every  hill 
Redden  with  vengeance.     Father,  come  !     Whate'er 
Betides  us,  worse  we're  certain  can't  befall, 
And  better  may  !     Oh,  be  it  liberty — 
Safe  hearts  and  homes,  husbands  and  children  !     Come, — 
It  spreads  apace.    Blaze  on — blaze  on — blaze  on  !     {Uxeunt.) 


EXERCISE   XXVII. 
THE  INDIAN  LAMENT. 

HENRY  E.  SCHOOLCRAFT. 

1  Man'-i-tou  is  the  name  of  a  kind  of  charm,  or  amulet, — a  con- 
secrated horn,  or  feather,  or  some  such  thing,  worn  by  the  Indians, 
as  a  remedy  or  preventive  of  disease  or  evil  influence. 

1.         The  blackbird  is  singing  on  Michigan's  shore, 
As  sweetly  and  gayly  as  ever  before  ; 
For  he  knows  to  his  mate  he  at  pleasure  can  hie, 
And  the  dear  little  brood  she  is  teaching  to  fly. 
The  sun  looks  as  ruddy,  and  rises  as  bright, 
And  reflects  o'er  the  mountains  as  beamy  a  light 
As  it  ever  reflected,  or  ever  expressed. 
When  my  skies  were  the  bluest,  my  dreams  were  the  best. 

The  fox  and  the  panther,  both  beasts  of  the  night, 
Retire  to  their  dens  on  the  gleaming  of  light, 
And  they  spring  with  a  free  and  a  sorrowless  track, 
For  they  know  that  their  mates  are  expecting  them  back. 
Each  bird  and  each  beast,  it  is  bless'd  in  degree  : 
All  nature  is  cheerful,  all  happy,  but  me. 


112  SANDERS'     NEW     SERIES. 

3.  I  will  go  to  my  tent,  and  lie  down  in  despair  ; 
(si.)  I  will  paint  me  with  black,  and  will  sever  my  hair ; 

I  will  sit  on  the  shore,  where  the  hurricane  blows, 
And  reveal  to  the  god  of  the  tempest  my  woes ; 
I  will  weep  for  a  season,  on  bitterness  fed, 
For  my  kindred  are  gone  to  the  hills  of  the  dead ; 
But  they  died  not  by  hunger,  or  lingering  decay ; 
The  steel  of  the  white  man  hath  swept  them  away 

4.  This  snake-skin,  that  once  I  so  sacredly  wore, 

I  will  toss  with  disdain  to  the  storm-beaten  shore  ; 

Its  charms  I  no  longer  obey  or  invoke  ; 

Its  spirit  hath  left  me,  its  spell  is  now  broke. 

I  will  raise  up  my  voice  to  the  source  of  the  light ; 

I  will  dream  on  the  wings  of  the  blue-bird  at  night ; 

I  will  speak  to  the  spirits  that  whisper  in  leaves, 

And  that  minister  balm  to  the  bosom  that  grieves  ; 

And  will  take  a  new  Manitou,^ — such  as  shall  seem 

To  be  kind  and  propitious  in  every  dream. 

5.  O !  then  I  shall  banish  these  cankering  sighs, 
And  tears  shall  no  longer  gush  salt  from  my  eyes  ; 

I  shall  wash  from  my  face  every  cloud-colored  stain  ; 

Red — ^red  shall  alone  on  my  visage  remain ! 

I  will  dig  up  my  hatchet,  and  bend  my  oak  bow ; 

By  night  and  by  day  I  will  follow  the  foe  ; 

Nor  lakes  shall  impede  me,  nor  mountains,  nor  snows  ; 

His  blood  can  alone  give  my  spirit  repose. 

6.  They  came  to  my  cabin  when  heaven  was  black ; 
I  heard  not  their  coming,  I  knew  not  their  track  ; 
But  I  saw,  by  the  light  of  their  blazing  fusees, 
They  were  people  engendered  beyond  the  big  seas  : 

{pi.)  My  wife  and  my  children, — O,  spare  me  the  tale  ! 
For  who  is  there  left  that  is  kin  to  Geehale  ! 


YOUNG    LADIES'  BEADER.  118 


EXERCISE  XXVIII. 
UNCLE  ABEL  AND  LITTLE  EDWARD. 

HARRIET   BEECHER  8T0WE. 

1.  Were  any  of  you  born  in  New  England,  in  the  good 
old  catechising,  school-going,  orderly  times  1  If  you  were, 
you  must  remember  my  Uncle  Abel ;  the  most  perpendicu- 
lar, rectangular,  upright,  downright  good  man  that  ever  la- 
bored six  days  and  rested  on  the  Sabbath. 

2.  You  remember  his  hard,  weather-beaten  countenance,^ 
where  every  line  seemed  to  be  drawn  with  a  pen  of  iron  and 
the  point  of  a  diamond ;  his  considerate  gray  eyes,  that  moved 
over  objects  as  if  it  were  not  best  to  be  in  a  hurry  about  see- 
ing;  the  circumspect  opening  and  shutting  of  his  mouth  ; — ^his 
down-sitting  and  up-rising  ;  all  of  which  appeared  to  be  per- 
formed with  a  conviction  afore-thought, — in  short,  the  whole 
ordering  of  his  life  and  conversation,  which  was,  according  to 
the  tenor  of  the  military  order — "  to  the  right-about  face — 
forward — march !" 

3.  Now,  if  you  supposed,  from  all  this  triangularism  of  exte- 
rior, that  this  good  man  had  nothing  kindly  within,  you  were 
much  mistaken.  You  often  find  the  greenest  grass  under  a 
snow-drift,  and  though  my  uncle's  mind  was  not  exactly  of 
the  flower-garden  kind,  still  there  was  an  abundance  of  whole- 
some and  kindly  vegetation  there. 

4.  It  is  true,  he  seldom  laughed,  and  never  joked — himself; 
but  no  man  had  more  weighty  and  serious  conviction  of  what 
a  good  joke  was  in  another ;  and  when  some  exceeding  witti- 
cism was  dispensed  in  his  presence,  you  might  see  Uncle 
Abel's  face  slowly  relax  into  an  expression  of  solemn  satis- 
faction, and  he  would  look  at  the  author  with  a  certain  quiet 
wonder,  as  if  it  was  astonishing  how  such  a  thing  could  ever 
come  into  a  man's  head. 

5.  Uncle  Abel  also  had  some  relish  for  the  fine  arts ;  in 
proof  whereof  I  might  adduce  the  pleasure  with  which  he 
gazed  at  the  plates  in  his  family  Bible,  the  likeness  whereof  I 


114  SANDERS'  NEW    SERIES. 


presume  you  never  any  of  you  saw ; — and  he  was  also  such 
an  eminent  musician,  that  he  could  go  through  the  singing- 
book  at  a  sitting,  without  the  least  fatigue,  beating  time  like 
a  windmill  all  the  way. 

6.  He  had,  too,  a  liberal  hand, — though  his  liberality  was  all 
by  the  Rule  of  Three  and  Practice.  He  did  to  his  neighbors 
exactly  as  he  would  be  done  by, — ^he  loved  some  things  in 
this  world  sincerely, — he  loved  his  God  much,  but  honored 
and  feared  Him  more ;  he  was  exact  with  others,  he  was  more 
exact  with  himself, — and  expected  his  God  to  be  more  exact 
still. 

7.  Every  thing  in  Uncle  Abel's  house  was  in  the  same 
time,  place,  manner,  and  form,  from  year's  end  to  year's  end. 
There  was  old  Master  Bose,  a  dog  after  my  uncle's  own 
heart,  who  always  walked  as  if  he  were  learning  the  multipli- 
cation table.  There  was  the  old  clock,  for  ever  ticking  in  the 
kitchen-comer,  with  a  picture  on  its  face  of  the  sun,  forever 
setting  behind  a  perpendicular  row  of  poplars.  There  was 
the  never-failing  supply  of  red  peppers  and  onions,  hanging 
over  the  chimney.  There  were  the  yearly  hollyhocks  and 
morning-glories,  blooming  around  the  windows.  There  was 
the  "  best  room"  with  its  sanded  floor,  and  ever-green  aspara- 
gus bushes, — its  cupboard  with  a  glass  door  in  one  corner,— 
and  the  stand,  with  the  great  Bible  and  almanac  on  it,  in  the 
other. 

8.  There  was  Aunt  Betsy,  who  never  looked  any  older, 
because  she  always  looked  as  old  as  she  could, — who  always 
dried  her  catnip  and  wormwood  the  last  of  September,  and 
began  to  clean  house  the  first  of  May.  In  short,  this  was  the 
land  of  continuance.  Old  Time  never  seemed  to  take  into 
his  head  to  practice  either  addition,  subtraction,  or  multiplica- 
tion, on  its  sum  total. 

9.  This  Aunt  Betsy  aforenamed,  was  the  neatest  and  most 
efficient  piece  of  human  machinery  that  ever  operated  in  forty 
places  at  once.  She  was  always  everywhere,  predominating 
over,  and  seeing  to,  every  thing,  and  though  my  uncle  had 


YOUNG    LADIES'  READER.  115 

been  twice  married,  Aunt  Betsy's  rule  and  authority  had 
never  been  broken.  She  reigned  over  his  wives  when  living, 
and  reigned  after  them  when  dead,  and  so  seemed  likely  to 
reign  to  the  end  of  the  chapter. 

10.  But  my  uncle's  latest  wife  left  Aunt  Betsy  a  much  less 
tractable  subject  than  had  ever  before  fallen  to  her  lot. 
Little  Edward  was  the  child  of  my  uncle's  old  age,  and  a 
brighter,  merrier  little  blossom  never  grew  up  on  the  verge 
of  an  avalanche.  He  had  been  committed  to  the  nursing  of 
his  grandmother,  until  he  had  arrived  at  the  years  of  mdiscre- 
tion,  and  then  my  old  uncle's  heart  yearned  toward  him,  and 
he  was  sent  for  home. 

1 1 .  His  introduction  into  the  family  excited  a  terrible  sen- 
sation. Never  was  there  such  a  contemner  of  dignities — 
such  a  violater  of  all  high  places  and  sanctities,  as  this  very 
Master  Edward.  It  was  all  in  vain  to  try  to  teach  him  de- 
corum. He  was  the  most  outrageously  merry  little  elf  that 
ever  shook  a  head  of  curls,  and  it  was  all  the  same  to  him 
whether  it  was  "  Sabba-day"  or  any  other  day. 

12.  He  laughed  and  frolicked  with  every  body  and  every 
thing  that  came  in  his  way,  not  even  excepting  his  solemn 
old  father ;  and  when  you  saw  him  with  his  arms  around  the 
old  man's  neck,  and  his  bright  blue  eyes  and  blooming  cheek 
peering  out  by  the  bleak  face  of  Uncle  Abel,  you  almost 
fancied  that  you  saw  spring  caressing  winter.  Uncle  Abel's 
metaphysics  were  sorely  puzzled  to  bring  this  sparkling, 
dancing  compound  of  spirit  and  matter  into  any  reasonable 
shape ;  for  he  did  mischief  with  an  energy  and  perseverance 
that  was  truly  astonishing. 

13.  Once,  he  scoured  the  floor  with  Aunt  Betsy's  best 
Scotch  snuff,  and  once  he  washed  up  the  hearth  with  Uncle 
Abel's  myst  immaculate  clothes-brush,  and  once  he  spent  half 
an  hour  in  trying  to  make  Bose  wear  his  father's  spectacles. 
In  short,  there  was  no  use,  but  the  right  one,  to  which  he  did 
not  put  every  thing  that  came  in  his  way. 

14.  But  Uncle  Abel  was  most  of  all  puzzled  to  know  what 


116  SANDERS'  NEW    SERIES. 

to  do  with  him  on  the  Sabbath ;  for  on  that  day  Master  Ed- 
ward seemed  to  exert  himself  particularly  to  be  entertaining, 
"Edward,  Edward,  must  not  play  on  Sunday,"  his  father 
would  say,  and  then  Edward  would  shake  his  curls  over  his 
eyes,  and  walk  out  of  the  room  as  grave  as  a  catechism  ;  but 
the  next  moment  you  might  see  pussy  scampering  in  all  dis- 
may through  the  "  best  room,''^  with  Edward  at  her  heels,  to 
the  manifest  discomposure  of  Aunt  Betsy,  and  all  others  in 
authority. 

15.  At  last  my  uncle  came  to  the  conclusion,  that  "it 
was  n't  in  natur  to  teach  him  any  better,"  and  that  "  he  would 
no  more  keep  Sunday  than  the  brook  down  the  lot."  My 
poor  uncle !  he  did  not  know  what  was  the  matter  with  his 
heart,  but  certain  it  was,  that  he  lost  all  faculty  of  scolding, 
when  little  Edward  was  in  the  case  ;  though  he  would  stand 
rubbing  his  spectacles  a  quarter  of  an  hour  longer  than  com- 
mon, when  Aunt  Betsy  was  detailing  his  witticisms  and 
clever  doings.  But,  in  process  of  time,  our  hero  compassed 
his  third  year,  and  arrived  at  the  dignity  of  going  to  school. 

16.  He  went  illustriously  through  the  Spelling-book,  and 
then  attacked  the  Catechism  ;  went  from  "  Man's  Chief  End" 
to  "the  Commandments"  in  a  fortnight,  and  at  last  came 
home  inordinately  merry,  to  tell  his  father  he  had  got  to 
«  Amen." 

17.  After  this  he  made  a  regular  business  of  saying  over 
the  whole  every  Sunday  evening,  standing  with  his  hands 
folded  in  front,  and  his  checked  apron  smoothed  down,  occa- 
sionally giving  a  glance  over  his  shoulder,  to  see  whether 
pussy  was  attending.  Being  of  a  very  benevolent  turn  of 
mind,  he  made  several  very  commendable  efforts  to  teach 
Bose  the  Catechism,  in  which  he  succeeded  as  well  as  could 
be  expected.  In  short,. without  further  detail,  M<aster  Ed- 
ward bade  fair  to  be  a  literary  wonder. 

18.  But,  alas,  for  poor  little  Edward  !  his  merry  dance 
was  soon  over.  A  day  came  when  he  sickened.  Aunt  Betsy 
tried  her  whole  herbarium,  but  in   vain ;  he  grew  rapidly 


YOUNG     LADIES'     BEADER.  117 


worse  and  worse.  His  father  sickened  in  heart,  but  said 
nothing ;  he  only  staid  by  his  bedside  day  and  night,  trying 
all  means  to  save  him,  with  affecting  pertinacity. 

19.  "  Can't  you  think  of  any  thing  more,  doctor  1"  said  he 
to  the  physician,  when  every  thing  had  been  tried  in  vain. 
"Nothing,"  answered  the  physician.  A  slight  convulsion 
passed  over  my  uncle's  face.  "Then  the  Lord's  will  be 
done !"  said  he. 

20.  Just  at  that  moment  a  ray  of  the  setting  sun  pierced 
the  checked  curtains,  and  gleamed  like  an  angel's  smile  across 
the  face  of  the  little  sufferer.  He  awoke  from  disturbed 
sleep.  "  Oh  dear !  oh,  I  am  so  sick !"  he  gasped  feebly. 
His  father  raised  him  in  his  arms  ;  he  breathed  easier,  and 
looked  up  with  a  grateful  smile. 

21.  Just  then  his  old  playmate,  the  cat,  crossed  the  floor. 
"  There  goes  pussy,"  said  he ;  "  oh  dear,  I  shall  never  play 
with  pussy  any  more."  At  that  moment  a  deadly  change 
passed  over  his  face ;  he  looked  up  to  his  father  with  an  im- 
ploring expression,  and  put  out  his  hands.  There  was  one 
moment  of  agony,  and  then  the  sweet  features  all  settled  with 
a  smile  of  peace,  and  "  mortality  was  swallowed  up  of  life.'* 

22.  My  uncle  laid  him  down,  and  looked  one  moment  at 
his  beautiful  face ;  it  was  too  much  for  his  principles,  too 
much  for  his  pride,  and  "  he  lifted  up  his  voice  and  wept." 

23.  The  next  morning"  was  the  Sabbath — the  funeral  day, 
and  it  rose  "  with  breath  all  incense  and  with  cheek  all 
bloom."  Uncle  Abel  was  as  calm  and  collected  as  ever,  but 
in  his  face  there  was  a  sorrow-stricken  expression  that  could 
not  be  mistaken. 

24.  I  remember  him  at  family  prayers  bending  over  the 
great  Bible,  and  beginning  the  psalm,  "  Lord,  thou  hast  been 
our  dwelling-place  in  all  generations."  Apparently,  he  was 
touched  by  the  melancholy  splendor  of  the  poetry ;  for,  after 
reading  a  few  verses,  he  stopped.  There  was  a  dead  silence, 
interrupted  only  by  the  ticking  of  the  clock.  He  cleared  his 
voice  repeatedly,  and  tried  to  go  on,  but  in  vain.     He  closed 


118  SANDERS'    NEW    SERIES. 

the  book,  and  knelt  to  prayer.  The  energy  of  sorrow  brcke 
through  his  usual  formal  reverence,  and  his  language  flowed 
forth  with  a  deep  and  sorrowful  pathos,  which  I  have  never 
forgotten.  The  God  so  much  reverenced,  so  much  feared, 
'  seemed  to  draw  near  to  him  as  a  friend  and  comforter,  to  be 
his  refuge  and  strength,  "  a  very  present  help  in  time  of 
trouble." 

25.  My  uncle  arose,  and  I  saw  him  walk  toward  the  room 
of  the  departed  one.  I  followed,  and  stood  with  him  over 
the  dead.  He  uncovered  the  face.  It  was  set  with  the  seal 
of  death  ;  but,  oh  !  how  surpassingly  lovely  was  the  impres- 
sion !  The  brilliancy  of  life  was  gone,  but  the  face  was 
touched  with  the  mysterious  triumphant  brightness  which 
seems  like  the  dawning  of  heaven. 

26.  My  uncle  looked  long  and  steadily.  He  felt  the 
beauty  of  what  he  gazed  on ;  his  heart  was  softened,  but  he 
had  no  words  for  his  feelings.  He  left  the  room  unconscious- 
ly, and  stood  in  the  front  door. 

27.  The  bells  were  ringing  for  church,  the  morning  was 
bright,  the  birds  were  singing  merrily,  and  the  little  pet 
squirrel  of  little  Edward  was  frolicking  about  the  door.  My 
uncle  watched  him  as  he  ran,  first  up  one  tree  and  then  an- 
other, and  then  over  the  fence,  whisking  his  brush  and  chat- 
tering just  as  if  nothing  was  the  matter.  With  a  deep  sigh, 
Uncle  Abel  broke  forth — "  How  happy  that  cretur  is !  Well, 
the  Lord's  will  be  done." 

28.  That  day,  the  dust  was  committed  to  dust,  amid  the 
lamentations  of  all  who  had  known  little  Edward.  Years 
have  passed  since  then,  and  my  uncle  has  long  been  gath- 
ered to  his  fathers,  but  his  just  and  upright  spirit  has  entered 
the  liberty  of  the  sons  of  God. 

29.  Yes,  the  good  man  may  have  opinions  which  the  philo- 
sophical scorn,  weaknesses  at  which  the  thoughtless  smile, 
but  death  shall  change  him  into  all  that  is  enlightened,  wise, 
and  refined.  "  He  shall  shine  as  the  brightness  of  the  firma- 
ment, and  as  the  stars  for  ever  and  ever." 


YOUNG     LADIES'     KEADER.  119 


EXERCISE   XXIX. 

1.  Pla'-to,  a  most  illustrious  philosopher  of  ancient  Greece,  was 
born  about  the  year  B.  C.  429,  and  died  B.  C.  34Y. 

2.  Tul'-ly,  that  is,  Marcus  Tullius  Cicero,  the  chief  of  Roman  ora- 
tors. He  was  born  at  Arpinum,  a  small  town  south-east  of  Rome, 
B.  C.  106,  and  died,  through  the  instigation  of  Mark  Antony,  by  the 
hand  of  a  man  whom  he  had  once,  it  is  said,  successfully  defended  in 
a  trial  for  some  serious  offense. 

3.  Roche'-fou-cault,  a  celebrated  wit  and  nobleman  of  the  reign 
of  Louis  XIV.,  was  born  in  the  year  1613.  He  died  in  1680.  He  is 
chiefly  famous  for  his  work  entitled  "  Reflections  and  Maxims." 

DIGNITY  OF  HUMAN  NATURE. 

ADDISON. 

1.  I  must  confess,  there  is  nothing  that  more  pleases  me, 
in  all  that  I  read  in  books,  or  see  among  mankind,  than  such 
passages  as  represent  human  nature  in  its  proper  dignity. 
As  man  is  a  creature  made  up  of  different  extremes,  he  has 
something  in  him  very  great  and  very  mean.  A  skillful  artist 
may  draw  an  excellent  picture  of  him  in  either  of  these 
views. 

2.  The  finest  authors  of  antiquity  have  taken  him  on  the  more 
advantageous  side.  They  cultivate  the  natural  grandeur  of 
the  soul,  raise  in  her  a  generous  ambition,  feed  her  with  hopes 
of  immortality  and  perfection,  and  do  all  they  can  to  widen 
the  partition  between  the  virtuous  and  the  vicious,  by  making 
the  difference  betwixt  them  as  great  #s  between  gods  and 
brutes.  In  short,  it  is  impossible  to  read  a  page  in  Plato,* 
Tully,''  and  a  thousand  other  ancient  moralists,  without  being 
a  greater  and  a  better  man  for  it.  • 

3.  On  the  contrary,  I  could  never  read  any  of  our  modish 
French  authors,  or  those  of  our  own  country,  who  are  the 
imitators  and  admirers  of  that  trifling  nation,  without  being 
for  some  time  out  of  humor  with  myself,  and  at  every  thing 
about  me.  Their  business  is  to  depreciate  human  nature,  and 
consider  it  under  its  worst  appearances.     They  give  mean 


120  SANDEES'     NEW     SEKIES. 

interpretations  and  base  motives  to  the  worthiest  actions; 
they  resolve  virtue  and  vice  into  constitution.  In  short, 
they  endeavor  to  make  no  distinction  between  man  and 
man,  or  between  the  species  of  men  and  that  of  brutes. 
As  an  instance  of  this  kind  of  authors,  among  many  others, 
let  any  one  examine  the  celebrated  Rochefoucault,'  who  is  the 
great  philosopher  for  administering  of  consolation  to  the  idle, 
the  envious,  and  worthless  part  of  mankind. 

4.  I  remember  a  young  gentleman  of  moderate  under- 
standing, but  great  vivacity,  who,  by  dipping  into  many  au- 
thors of  this  nature,  had  got  a  little  smattering  of  knowledge, 
just  enough  to  make  an  atheist  or  free-thinker,  but  not  a  phi- 
losopher or  a  man  of  sense.  "With  these  accomplishments, 
he  went  to  visit  his  father  in  the  country,  who  was  a  plain, 
rough,  honest  man,  and  wise,  though  not  learned.  The  son, 
who  took  all  opportunities  to  show  his  learning,  began  to  es- 
tablish a  new  religion  in  the  family,  and  to  enlarge  the  nar- 
rowness of  their  country  notions,  in  which  he  succeeded  so 
well,  that  he  had  seduced  the  butler  by  his  table  talk,  and 
staggered  his  eldest  sister. 

5.  The  old  gentleman  began  to  be  alarmed  at  the  schisms 
that  arose  among  his  children,  but  did  not  yet  believe  his 
son's  doctrine  to  be  so  pernicious  as  it  really  was,  until  one 
day,  talking  of  his  setter-dog,  the  son  said,  "  he  did  not  ques- 
tion but  Tray  was  as  immortal  as  any  one  of  the  family ;" 
and  in  the  heat  of  the  argument  told  his  father,  "  that,  for  his 
own  part,  he  expected  to  die  like  a  dog."  Upon  which,  the 
old  man,  starting  up  in  a  very  great  passion,  cried  out ; 
"  Then,  sir,  you  shall  live  like  one ;"  and,  taking  his  cane  in 
his  hand,  cudgeled  him  out  of  his  system.  This  had  so  good 
an  eifect  upon  him,  that  he  took  up  from  that  day,  fell  to  read- 
ing good  books,  and  is  now  a  bencher  of  the  Middle 
Temple. 


YOUNG     LADIES'    READER.  121 

EXERCISE  XXX. 

PRIDE    OF   ANCESTRY. 

DANIEL   WEB8TEB. 

1.  It  is  a  noble  faculty  of  our  nature  which  enables  us  to 
connect  our  thoughts,  our  sympathies,  and  our  happiness  with 
what  is  distant  in  place  or  time  ;  and,  looking  before  and  after, 
to  hold  communion  at  once  with  our  ancestors  and  our  pos- 
terity. Human  and  mortal  although  we  are,  we  are  never- 
theless not  mere  insulated  beings,  without  relation  to  the 
past  or  the  future.  Neither  the  point  of  time  nor  the  spot  of 
earth  in  which  we  physically  live,  bounds  our  rational  and  in- 
tellectual enjoyments. 

2.  We  live  in  the  past  by  a  knowledge  of  its  history,  and 
in  the  future  by  hope  and  anticipation.  By  ascending  to  an 
association  with  our  ancestors ;  by  contemplating  their  ex- 
ample and  studying  their  character ;  by  partaking  their  sen- 
timents and  imbibing  their  spirit ;  by  accompanying  them  in 
their  toils ;  by  sympathizing  in  their  sufferings,  and  rejoicing 
in  their  successes  and  their  triumphs, — we  mingle  our  own 
existence  with  theirs,  and  seem  to  belong  to  their  age. 

3.  We  become  their  contemporaries,  live  the  lives  which 
they  lived,  endure  what  they  endured,  and  partake  in  the  re- 
wards which  they  enjoyed.  And  in  like  manner,  by  running 
along  the  line  of  future  time,  by  contemplating  the  probable 
fortunes  of  those  who  are  coming  after  us ;  by  attempting 
something  which  may  promote  their  happiness,  and  leave 
some  not  dishonorable  memorial  of  ourselves  for  their  regard, 
when  we  shall  sleep  with  the  fathers,  we  protract  our  own 
earthly  being,  and  seem  to  crowd  whatever  is  future,  as  wel 
as  all  that  is  past,  into  the  narrow  compass  of  our  earthly 
existence. 

4.  As  it  is  not  a  vain  and  false,  but  an  exalted  and  religious 
imagination,  which  leads  us  to  raise  our  thoughts  from  the  orb 
which,  amidst  this  universe  of  worlds,  the  Creator  has  given 
us  to  Inhabit,  and  to  send  them  with  something  of  the  feeling 

6 


122  SANDERS'     NEW     SEKIES. 

which  nature  prompts,  and  teaches  to  be  proper  among  chil- 
dren of  the  same  Eternal  Parent,  to  the  contemplation  of  the 
myriads  of  fellow-beings  with  which  his  goodness  has  peopled 
the  infinite  of  space,  so  neither  is  it  false  or  vain  to  consider 
ourselves  as  interested  or  connected  with  our  whole  race 
through  all  time ;  allied  to  our  ancestors  ;  allied  to  our  pos- 
terity ;  closely  compacted  on  all  sides  with  others ;  ourselves 
being  but  links  in  the  great  chain  of  being,  which  begins 
with  the  origin  of  our  race,  runs  onward  through  its  success- 
ive generations,  binding  together  the  past,  the  present,  and 
the  future,  and  terminating  at  last  with  the  consummation  of 
all  things  earthly,  at  the  throne  of  God. 

5.  There  may  be,  and  there  often  is,  indeed,  a  regard  for 
ancestry,  which  nourishes  only  a  weak  pride  ;  as  there  is  also 
a  care  for  posterity,  which  only  disguises  an  habitual  avarice, 
or  hides  the  workings  of  a  low  and  groveling  vanity.  But 
there  is  also  a  moral  and  philosophical  respect  for  our  ances- 
tors, which  elevates  the  character  and  improves  the  heart. 

6.  Next  to  the  sense  of  religious  duty  and  moral  feeling,  I 
hardly  know  what  should  bear  with  stronger  obligation  on  a 
liberal  and  enlightened  mind,  than  a  consciousness  of  alliance 
with  excellence  which  is  departed  ;  and  a  consciousness,  too, 
that  in  its  acts  and  conduct,  and  even  in  its  sentiments,  it 
may  be  actively  operating  on  the  happiness  of  those  who 
come  after  it.  Poetry  is  found  to  have  few  stronger  concep- 
tions, by  which  it  would  affect  or  overwhelm  the  mind,  than 
those  in  which  it  presents  the  moving  and  speaking  image  of 
the  departed  dead  to  the  senses  of  the  living.  This  belongs 
to  poetry,  only  because  it  is  congenial  to  our  nature. 

7.  Poetry  is,  in  this  respect,  but  the  handmaid  of  true  pld- 
losophy  and  morality.  It  deals  with  us  as  human  beings, 
naturally  reverencing  those  whose  visible  connection  with 
this  state  of  being  is  severed,  and  who  may  yet  exercise  we 
know  not  what  sympathy  with  ourselves ; — and  when  it 
carries  us  forward,  also,  and  shows  us  the  long-continued  re- 
sult of  all  the  good  we  do  in  the  prosperity  of  those  who 


YOUNG     LADIES'  KEADEil.  128 

follow  us,  till  it  bears  us  from  ourselves,  and  absorbs  us  in  an 
intense  interest  for  what  shall  happen  to  the  generations 
after  us,  it  speaks  only  in  the  language  of  our  nature,  and 
affects  us  with  sentiments  which  belong  to  us  as  human  beings. 


EXERCISE   XXXI. 


NATURE'S  NOBILITY. 

KEY.    GEORGE   ASPETWALL. 

1.  Room  for  a  nobleman  to  pass  ! 

In  costly  robes "?  in  trappings  gay  ? 
A  fop  tricked  out  before  the  glass  ? 

N6 ;  clad  in  sober  gray, 
A  nobleman  in  heart  is  he, 
With  mind  for  his  nobility. 

2.  His  crest,  a  soul  in  virtue  strong, 

His  arms,  a  heart  with  candor  bright, 
Which  gold  bribes  not  to  what  is  wrong, 

Nor  blinds  to  what  is  right ; 
The  patent  of  his  courtly  race, — 
Behold  it  in  his  open  face  ! 

3.  He  cringes  not  on  those  above, 
Nor  tramples  on  the  worm  below  ; 
Misfortunes  can  not  cool  his  love, 

Or  flattery  make  it  grow  : 
Stanch  to  his  friends  in  woe  or  weal, 
As  is  the  magnet  to  the  steel. 

4.  He  envies  not  the  deepest  sage ; 
He  scoffs  not  at  the  meanest  wight ; 
And  all  the  war  that  he  doth  wage 

Is  in  the  cause  of  right ; 


124  S.AiJ-DEKS'    NEW     SEKIES. 

For  "broad  estate,  and  waving  land, 
He  has  the  poor  man's  willing  hand. 

5.  He  is  not  rich,  and  yet,  indeed, 

Has  wealth  ;  nor  poor,  has  stock,  though  small ; 
Nor  rich,  he  gives  so  much  to  need  ; 

Not  poor,  for  on  him  fall 
Such  blessings  from  relieved  distress, 
To  crown  his  path  with  happiness. 

6.  Room  for  a  lord,  ye  truckling  crew, 

Who  round  earth's  great  ones  fawn  and  whine ! 
Fall  back  !  and  gaze  on  something  new  ; 

A  lord,  at  least,  in  mind^ — 
That  bravest  work  in  Nature's  plan, 

An  UPRIGHT,  INDEPENDENT  MAN. 

Questions. — 1.  "Why  the  rising  inflection  at  the  questions  in  the  first 
stanza,  and  the  falling  at  the  answer?  See  Rule  I.,  page  26.  2. 
What  rule  for  the  inflections  as  marked  in  the  fifth  stanza?  See 
Rule  IV.,  page  29. 


EXERCISE    XXXII. 


Bb  careful  to  avoid  a  singing  tone  in  reading  this  piece;  to  which 
there  is  a  strong  tendency  in  unpracticed  readers. 

BEKDEMEER'S*   STREAM. 

THOMAS  MOORK 

1.  There's  a  bower  of  roses  by  Bendemeers  stream. 

And  the  nightingale  sings  round  it  all  the  day  long ; 
In  the  time  of  my  childhood,  'twas  like  a  sweet  dream, 
To  sit  in  the  roses  and  hear  the  bird's  song. 

2.  That  bower  and  its  music  I  never  forget. 

But  oft,  when  alone,  in  the  bloom  of  the  year, 

•  Name  of  a  river  near  the  ruins  of  Chilminar. 


YOUISTG    LADIES'  BEADEB.  125 

I  think — Is  the  nightingale  singing  there  yet  1 

Are  the  roses  still  bright  by  the  calm  Bendemeer  ? 

3.  N6 ;  the  roses  soon  withered  that  hung  o'er  the  wave, 

But  some  blossoms  were  gathered  while  freshly  they  shone. 
And  a  dew  was  distilled  from  their  flowers,  that  gave 
All  the  fragrance  of  summer,  when  summer  was  gone. 

4.  Thus  memory  draws  from  delight,  ere  it  dies, 

An  essence  that  breathes  of  it  many  a  year ; 
Thus  bright  to  my  soul,  as  'twas  then  to  my  eyes. 
Is  that  bower  on  the  banks  of  the  calm  Bendemeer ! 

Questions. — 1.  What  rule  for  the  inflections,  as  marked  in  the  2d 
and  3d  stanzas  ?  2.  How  many  accented  syllables  are  there  in  each 
line  ?    3.  How  many  unaccented  syllables  ? 


EXERCISE  XXXIII. 
AEACHNE  AND  MELISSA;   OR,  THE  ART  OF  HAPPINESS. 


1.  Almost  every  object  that  attracts  our  notice,  has  its 
bright  and  its  dark  side.  He  who  habituates  himself  to 
look  at  the  displeasing  side,  will  sour  his  disposition,  and 
consequently  impair  his  happiness  ;  while  he  who  constantly 
beholds  it  on  the  bright  side,  insensibly  meliorates  his  tern 
per,  and  in  consequence  of  it  improves  his  own  happiness, 
and  the  happiness  of  all  about  him. 

2.  Arachne  and  Melissa  are  two  friends.  They  are  both 
of  them  women  in  years,  and  alike  in  birth,  fdrtune,  educli^ 
tion,  and  accomplishments.  They  were  originally  alike  in 
temper  too ;  but,  by  different  management,  are  grown  the  re- 
verse of  each  other.  Arachne  has  accustomed  herself  to  look 
only  on  the  dark  side  of  every  object.  If  a  new  poem  makes 
its  appearance  with  a  thousand  brilliancies,  and  but  one  or  two 


126  SANDERS'     NEW     SERIES. 

blemishes,  she  slightly  skims  over  the  passages  that  should 
give  her  pleasure,  and  dwells  upon  those  only  that  fill  her 
with  dislike.  If  you  show  her  a  very  excellent  portrait,  she 
looks  at  some  part  of  the  drapery,  which  has  been  neglected, 
or  to  a  hand  or  finger  which  has  been  left  unfinished. 

3.  Her  garden  is  a  very  beautiful  one,  and  kept  with  greafc 
neatness  and  elegancy  ;  but  if  you  take  a  walk  with  her  in 
it,  she  talks  to  you  of  nothing  but  blights  and  storms, — of 
snails  and  caterpillars,  and  how  impossible  it  is  to  keep  it 
from  the  litter  of  falling  leaves.  If  you  sit  down  in  one  of 
her  temples,  to  enjoy  a  delightful  prospect,  she  observes  to 
you  that  there  is  too  much  wood,  or  too  little  water ;  that 
the  day  is  too  sunny,  or  too  gloomy ;  that  it  is  sultry,  or  windy, 
and  finishes  with  a  long  harangue  upon  the  wretchedness 
of  our  climate.  When  you  return  with  her  to  the  company, 
in  hope  of  a  little  cheerful  conversation,  she  casts  a  gloom 
over  all,  by  giving  you  the  history  of  her  own  bad  health,  or 
of  some  melancholy  accident  that  has  befallen  one  of  her 
daughter's  children.  Thus  she  insensibly  sinks  her  own 
spirits,  and  the  spirits  of  all  around  her,  and  at  last  discovers, 
she  knows  not  why,  that  her  friends  are  grave. 

4.  Melissa  is  the  reverse  of  all  this.  By  constantly  habit- 
uating herself,  to  look  only  on  the  bright  side  of  objects,  she 
preserves  a  perpetual  cheerfulness  in  herself,  which,  by  a  kind 
of  happy  contagion,  she  communicates  to  all  about  her.  If 
any  misfortune  has  befallen  her,  she  considers  it  might  have 
been  worse,  and  is  thankful  to  Providence  for  an  escape. 
She  rejoices  in  solitude,  as  it  gives  her  an  opportunity  of 
knowing  herself;  and  in  society,  because  she  can  communi- 
cate the  happiness  she  enjoys. 

5.  She  opposes  every  man's  virtues  to  his  failings,  and  can 
find  out  something  to  cherish  and  applaud  in  the  very  worst 
of  her  acquaintances.  She  opens  every  book  with  a  desire 
to  be  entertained  or  instructed,  and,  therefore,  seldom  fiiils  of 
securing  her  object.  Walk  with  her,  though  it  be  on  a  heath 
or  a  common,  and  she  will  discover  numberless  beauties,  utt- 


YOUNG    LADIES'  READER,  127 

observed  before,  in  the  hills,  the  dales,  the  brooms,  brakes, 
and  the  variegated  flowers  of  weeds  and  poppies. 

6.  She  enjoys  every  change  of  weather  and  of  season,  as 
bringing  with  it  something  of  health  or  convenience.  In 
conversation,  it  is  a  rule  with  her  never  to  start  a  subject  that 
leads  to  anything  gloomy  or  disagreeable.  You,  therefore, 
never  hear  her  repeating  her  own  grievances,  or  those  of  her 
neighbors,  or,  what  is  worst  of  all,  their  faults  and  imperfections. 
If  anything  of  the  latter  kind  be  mentioned  in  her  hearing,  she 
has  the  address  to  turn  it  into  entertainment,  by  changing 
tne  most  odious  railing  into  a  pleasant  raillery.  Tims  Me- 
lissa, like  the  bee,  gathers  honey  from  every  weed  ;  while 
Arachne,  like  the  spider,  sucks  poison  from  the  fairest  flowers. 
The  consequence  is,  that  of  two  tempers  once  very  nearly  al- 
lied, the  one  is  ever  sour  and  dissatisfied,  the  other,  always 
gay  and  cheerful ;  the  one  sprea  is  a  universal  gloom,  the 
other,  a  continual  sunshine. 

7.  There  is  nothing  more  worthy  of  our  attention,  than  this 
art  of  'happiness.  In  conversation,  as  well  as  life,  happiness 
very  often  depends  upon  the  slightest  incidents.  The  taking 
notice  of  the  badness  of  the  weather,  a  north-east  wind,  the 
approach  of  winter,  or  any  trifling  circur:istance  of  the  disa- 
greeable kind,  will  insensibly  rob  a  whole  company  of  its  good 
humor,  and  fling  every  member  of  it  into  the  vapors.  If, 
therefore,  we  would  be  happy  in  ourselves,  and  are  desirous 
of  communicating  that  happiness  to  all  about  us,  these  tri- 
fling matters  of  conversation  ought  carefully  to  be  attend- 
ed to.  - 

8.  The  brightness  of  the  sky,  the  lengthening  of  the  day, 
the  increasing  verdure  of  the  spring,  the  arrival  of  any  little 
piece  of  good  news,  or  whatever  carries  with  it  the  most  dis- 
tant glimpse  of  joy,  will  frequently  be  the  parent  of  a  social 
and  happy  conversation.  Good  manners  exact  from  us  this 
regard  to  our  company.  The  clown  may  repine  at  the  sun- 
shine that  ripens  the  harvest,  because  his  turnips  are  burnt 
up  by  it ;  but  the  man  of  refinement  will  extract  pleasure 


12$ 


SANDERS'  NEW    SERIES. 


from  the  thunder-storm  to  which  he  is  exposed,  by  remarking 
on  the  plenty  and  refreshment  which  may  be  expected  from 
the  succeeding  shower. 

9.  Thus  does  politeness,  as  well  as  good  sense,  direct  us  to 
look  at  every  object  on  the  bright  side,  and,  by  thus  acting, 
we  cherish  and  improve  both.  By  this  practice  it  is,  that 
Melissa  has  become  the  wisest  and  best  of  women  living,  and 
by  this  practice,  may  every  person  arrive  at  that  agreeable- 
ness  of  temper,  of  which  the  natural  and  never-failing  fruit  is 
happiness. 

Questions. — 1.  On  what  principle  are  the  words  bright  and  darkf 
emphatic,  1st  paragraph  ?  Note  VIL,  page  22.  2.  On  what  princi- 
ple are  the  inflections  marked  in  the  8d  paragraph  ?  Rule  IV.,  pag€f 
29.  3.  What  rule  for  the  inflections  as  marked  in  the  2d  paragraph  I 
Rule  VIL,  page  31. 


EXERCISE   XXXIV. 

1.  The  Wilderness  of  Judba  was  the  wild  and  inhospitable  region: 
lying  eastward  of  Jerusalem,  in  the  direction  of  the  river  Jordan 
and  the  Dead  Sea, 

2.  Vir'-gil,  whose  full  name  was  Publius  Virgilius  Maro,  was  a 
celebrated  Latin  poet,  born  about  seventy  years  before  Christ.  His 
most  famous  work  is  an  epic  poem,  called  the  ^Eneid,  from  the  hero 
jEneas,  whose  wanderings  and  final  settlement  in  Italy,  after  the 
fall  of  ancient  Troy,  it  commemorates. 

3.  Ath'-ens,  the  celebrated  capital  of  Attica,  in  ancient  Greece, 
was  founded,  according  to  the  common  account,  by  Cecrops,  B.  0. 
1550. 

4.  The  ^'-ge  -an  is  that  part  of  the  Mediterranean  Sea  sitjated  be- 
tween Greece  and  Asia  Minor.     It  is  now  called  the  Archipelago. 

5.  Eus'-TACE,  or  Eus-ta'-thi-us,  a  learned  critic,  who  wrote  com- 
mentaries upon  the  works  of  Homer  and  other  ancient  writers  He 
was  born  at  Constantinople,  and  flourished  in  the  twelfth  century. 
His  commentary  upon  Homer  is  said  to  be  an  inexhaustible  mine 
of  ancient  erudition. 


YOUNG     LADIES'     READEK.  129 

NATURE   TO  THE  EYE   OF  A   CHRISTIAN. 

Ausoy. 

1.  "Whatever  leads  our  minds  habitually  to  the  Author  of 
the  Universe ;  whatever  mingles  the  voice  of  nature  with 
the  revelation  of  the  gospel ;  whatever  teaches  us  to  see,  in 
all  the  changes  of  the  world,  the  varied  goodness  of  Him,  in 
whom  "  we  live,  and  move,  and  have  our  being,"  brings  us 
nearer  to  the  spirit  of  the  Savior  of  mankind.  But,  it  is  not 
only  as  encouraging  a  sincere  devotion,  that  these  reflections 
are  favorable  to  Christianity  :  there  is  something,  moreover, 
peculiarly  allied  to  its  spirit  in  such  observations  of  external 
nature. 

2.  When  our  Savior  prepared  himself  for  his  temptation, 
his  agony,  and  death,  he  retired  to  the  wilderness  of  Judea^ 
to  inhale,  we  may  venture  to  believe,  a  holier  spirit  amidst 
its  solitary  scenes,  and  to  approach  to  a  nearer  communion 
with  his  Father,  amidst  the  sublimest  of  his  works.  It  is 
with  similar  feelings,  and  to  worship  the  same  Father,  that 
the  Christian  is  permitted  to  enter  the  temple  of  nature; 
and,  by  the  spirit  of  his  religion,  there  is  a  language  infused 
into  the  objects  which  she  presents,  unknown  to  the  worshiper 
of  former  times, 

3.  To  all,  indeed,  the  same  objects  appear — the  same  sun 
shines — the  same  heavens  are  open;  but  to  the  Christian 
alone  it  is  permitted  to  know  the  Author  of  these  things  ;  to 
see  His  spirit  "move  in  the  breeze  and  blossom  in  the 
spring,"  and  to  read,  in  the  changes  which  occur  in  the  mate 
rial  world,  the  varied  expression  of  eternal  love.  It  is  from 
the  influence  of. Christianity,  accordingly,  that  the  key  has 
been  given  to  the  signs  of  nature.  It  was  only  when  the 
Spirit  of  God  moved  on  the  face  of  the  deep,  that  order  and 
beauty  were  seen  in  the  world. 

4.  It  is,  accordingly,  peculiarly  well  worthy  of  observation, 
that  the  beauty  of  nature^  as  felt  in  modern  times,  seems  to 
have  been  almost  unknown  to  the  writers  of  antiquity.  They 
described  occasionally  the  scenes  in  which  they  dwelt ;  but, 

6* 


130  SANDERS'    NEW    SEEIES. 

if  we  except  Virgil,'  whose  gentle  mind  seems  to  have  antici- 
pated, in  this  instance,  the  influence  of  the  gospel,  never  with 
any  deep  feeling  of  their  beauty. 

5.  Then,  as  now,  the  citadel  of  Athens'  looked  upon  the 
evening  sun,  and  her  temples  flamed  in  his  setting  beam  ; 
but  what  Athenian  writer  ever  described  the  matchless  glories 
of  the  scene  ?  Then,  as  now,  the  silvery  clouds  of  the 
jEgean*  Sea  rolled  round  her  verdant  isles,  and  sported  in  the 
azure  vault  of  heaven ;  but  what  Grecian  poet  has  been  in- 
spired by  the  sight  1  The  Italian  lakes  spread  their  waves 
beneath  a  cloudless  sky,  and  all  that  is  lovely  in  nature  was 
gathered  around  them  ;  yet  even  Eustace'  tells  us  that  a  few 
detached  lines  is  all  that  is  lefl  in  regard  to  them  by  the  Ro* 
man  poets. 

6.  The  Alps  themselves, 

"  The  palaces  of  nature,  whose  vast  walls 
Have  pinnacled  in  clouds  their  snowy  scalps, 
And  throned  eternity  in  icy  halls 
Of  cold  sublimity,  where  forms  and  falls 
The  avalanche — the  thunderbolts  of  snow," 

even  these,  the  most  glorious  objects  which  the  eye  of 
man  can  behold,  were  regarded  by  the  ancients  with  senti- 
ments only  of  dismay  or  horror ;  as  a  barrier  from  hostile 
nations,  or  as  the  dwelling  of  barbarous  tribes.  The  torch 
of  religion  had  not  then  lightened  the  face  of  nature ;  they 
knew  not  the  language  which  she  spoke,  nor  felt  that  holy 
spirit  which,  to  the  Christian,  gives  the  sublimity  of  these 
scenes. 


EXERCISE   XXXV. 


THE  VIRTUOUS  WOMAN. 

PROVEEBS,    CHAP. 

1.  "Who  can  find  a  virtuous  woman  *?  for  her  price  is  &r 
above  rubies. 


YOUNG     LADIES'     EEADER.  131 

2.  The  heart  of  her  husband  doth  safely  trust  in  her,  so  that 
he  shall  have  no  need  of  spoil. 

3.  She  will  do  him  good,  and  not  evil,  all  the  days  of  her 
life. 

4.  She  seeketh  wool  and  flax,  and  worketh  willingly  with 
her  hands. 

5.  She  is  like  the  merchants'  ships  ;  she  bringeth  her  food 
from  afar. 

6.  She  riseth,  also,  while  it  is  yet  night,  and  giveth  meat  to 
her  household,  and  a  portion  to  her  maidens. 

7.  She  considereth  a  field,  and  buyeth  it ;  with  the  fruit  of 
her  hands  she  planteth  a  vineyard. 

8.  She  girdeth  her  loins  with  strength,  and  strengtheneth 
her  arms. 

9.  She  perceiveth  that  her  merchandise  is  good  ;  her  candle 
goeth  not  out  by  night. 

10.  She  layeth  her  hands  to  the  spindle,  and  her  hands  hold 
the  distaff. 

11.  She  stretcheth  out  her  hand  to  the  poor;    yea,   she 
reacheth  forth  her  hands  to  the  needy. 

12.  She  is  not  afraid  of  the  snow  for  her  household ;  for  all 
her  household  are  clothed  with  scarlet. 

13.  She  maketh  herself  coverings  of  tapestry ;  her  clothing 
is  silk  and  purple . 

14.  Her  husband  is  known  in  the  gates,  when  he  sitteth 
among  the  elders  of  the  land. 

15.  She  maketh  fine  linen  and  selleth  it ;  and  delivereth 
girdles  unto  the  merchant. 

16.  Strength  and  honor  are  her  clothing,  and  she  shall  re- 
joice in  time  to  come. 

17.  She  openeth  her  mouth  with  wisdom ;    and   in  her 
tongue  is  the  law  of  kindness. 

18.  She  looketh  well  to  the  ways  of  her  hausehold,  and 
eateth  not  the  bread  of  idleness. 

19.  Her  children  arise  up,  and  call  her  blessed ;  her  hus- 
band, also,  and  he  praiseth  her. 


102  SANDERS'     NEW     SERIES. 

20.  Many  daughters  have  done  virtuously,  but  thou  excel- 
lest  them  all. 

21.  Favor  is  deceitful,  and  beauty  is  vain;  but  a  woman 
that  feareth  the  Lord,  she  shall  be  praiseil. 

22.  Give  her  of  the  fruit  of  her  hands ;  and  let  her  own 
works  praise  her  in  the  gates. 


EXERCISE    XXXVI. 
THE   BOY    AND   HIS   ANGEL. 

CAROLINE  M.    SAWYBB. 

1.  "  Oh,  mother,  I  've  been  with  an  angel  to-day  ! 
I  was  out,  alone,  in  the  forest,  at  play, 
Chasing  after  the  butterflies,  watching  the  bees, 
And  hearing  the  woodpecker  tapping  the  trees  ; 
So  I  played,  and  I  played,  till,  so  weary  I  grew, 
I  sat  down  to  rest  in  the  shade  of  a  yew, 

While  the  birds  sang  so  sweetly  high  up  on  its  top, 
I  held  my  breath,  mother,  for  fear  they  would  stop  ! 
Thus  a  long  while  I  sat,  looking  up  to  the  sky. 
And  watching  the  clouds  that  went  hurrying  by. 
When  I  heard  a  voice  calling  just  over  my  head, 
That  sounded  as  if  '  Come,  oh  brother !'  it  said  ; 
And  there,  right  over  the  top  of  the  tree, 
Oh,  mother,  an  angel  was  beck'ning  to  me ! 

2.  "  And,  '  brother !'  once  more,  '  come,  oh  brother !'  he  cried, 
And  flew  on  light  pinions  close  down  by  my  side  ! 

And,  mother,  O  never  was  being  so  bright, 

As  the  one  which  then  beam'd  on  my  wondering  sight ! 

His  face  was  as  fair  as  the  delicate  shell. 

His  hair  down  his  shoulders  in  fair  ringlets  fell, 

His  eyes  resting  on  me,  so  melting  with  love, 

We^-e  as  soft  and  ^s  mild  as  the  eyes  of  a  dove  ! 


Y0U1TC^    LADIES'    EEABER.  183 

And,  somehow,  dear  mother,  I  felt  not  afraid, 
As  his  hand  on  my  brow  he  caressingly  laid, 
And  whispered  so  softly  and  gently  to  me, 
(p.) '  Come,  brother,  the  angels  are  waiting  for  thee 

3.  "  And  then  on  mv  forehead  he  tenderly  press'd 

Such  kisses — oh,  mother,  they  thrilled  through  my  breast, 
(=)  As  swiftly  as  lightning  leaps  down  from  on  high, 
When  the  chariot  of  God  rolls  along  the  black  sky  ! 
While  his  breath,  floating  round  me,  was  soft  as  the  breeze 
That  play'd  in  my  tresses,  and  rustled  the  trees. 
At  last  on  my  head  a  deep  blessing  he  pour'd, 
Then  plumed  his  bright  pinions  and  upward  he  soar'd  ! 
And  up,  up  he  went,  through  the  blue  sky,  so  far, 
He  seem'd  to  float  there  like  a  glittering  star. 
Yet  still  my  eyes  follow'd  his  radiant  flight, 
Till,  lost  in  the  azure,  he  pass'd  from  my  sight ! 
Then,  oh,  how  I  fear'd,  as  I  caught  the  last  gleam 
Of  his  Tanishing  form,  it  was  only  a  dream  ! 
(p.)  When  soft  voices  whispered  once  more  from  the  tree, 
'  Come,  brother,  the  angels  are  waiting  for  thee  !' " 

4.  Oh,  pale  grew  that  mother,  and  heavy  her  heart ; 

For  she  knew  her  fair  boy  from  this  world  must  depart ! 

That  his  bright  locks  must  fade  in  the  dust  of  the  tomb, 

Ere  the  autumn  winds  withered  the  summer's  rich  bloom ! 

Oh,  how  his  young  footsteps  she  watch'd  day  by  day. 

As  his  delicate  form  wasted  slowly  away. 

Till  the  soft  light  of  heaven  seemed  shed  o'er  his  face, 

And  he  crept  up  to  die  in  her  loving  embrace  ! 

"  Oh,  clasp  me,  dear  mother,  close,  close  to  your  breast» 

On  that  gentle  pillow  again  let  me  rest ! 

Let  me  once  more  gaze  up  to  that  dear,  loving  eye, 

And  then,  oh,  methinks,  I  can  willingly  die ! 

Now  kiss  me,  dear  mother  !  oh,  quickly  !  for  see, 

The  bright,  blessed  angels  are  waiting  for  me !" 


184  SANDERS'     NEW     SERIES. 

5.  Oh,  wild  was  the  anguish  that  swept  through  her  breast, 
ipl)  As  the  long,  frantic  kiss  on  his  pale  lips  she  press'd  ! 
And  felt  the  vain  search  of  his  soft,  pleading  eye. 
As  it  strove  to  meet  hers  ere  the  fair  boy  could  die. 
"  I  see  you  not,  mother,  for  darkness  and  night 
Are  hiding  your  dear  loving  face  from  my  sight — 
But  I  hear  your  low  sobbings, — dear  mother,  good-by, 
The  angels  are  ready  to  bear  me  on  high  ! 
I  will  wait  for  you  there, — ^but,  oh,  tarry  not  long. 
Lest  grief  at  your  absence  should  sadden  my  song  !" 
He  ceased,  and  his  hands  meekly  clasp'd  on  his  breast, 
While  his  sweet  face  sank  down  on  its  pillow  of  rest, 
Then,  closing  his  eyes,  now  all  rayless  and  dim, 
Went  up  with  the  angels  that  waited  for  him  ! 


EXERCISE    XXXVII. 
THE   LIFE-VOYAGE. 

VBANOES   S.    OSaOOD. 

1.  Once  in  the  olden  time  there  dwelt. 

Beside  the  sounding  sea, 
A  little  maid, — her  garb  was  coarse, 
Her  spirit  pure  and  free. 

2.  Her  parents  were  a  humble  twain, 

And  poor  as  poor  could  be  ; 
Yet  gayly  sang  the  guileless  child, 
Beside  the  sounding  sea. 

3.  The  hut  was  bare,  and  scant  the  fare, 

And  hard  her  little  bed  ; 
But  she  was  rich  !     A  single  gem 
Its  beauty  round  her  shed. 

4.  She  walk'd  in  light ! — 'twas  all  her  wealth— 

That  pearl,  whose  lustrous  glow 


YOUNG     LADIES'     READER.  135 

Made  her  white  forehead  dazzling  fair, 
And  pure  as  sunlit  snow. 

5.  Her  parents  died  !     With  tears  she  cried, 

"  God  will  my  father  be  !" 
Then  launched  alone  her  shallop  light. 
And  bravely  put  to  sea. 

6.  The  sail  she  set  was  virgin-white, 

As  inmost  lily  leaf, 
And  angels  whisper'd  her  from  heaven, 
To  loose  it,  or  to  reef. 

7.  And  ever  on  the  dancing  prow 

One  glorious  brilliant  burn'd. 
By  whose  clear  ray  she  read  her  way, 
And  every  danger  learn'd  : 

8.  For  she  had  hung  her  treasure  there. 

Her  heaven-illumined  pearl  ! 
And  so  she  steer'd  her  lonely  bark, 
That  fair  and  guileless  girl ! 

9.  The  wind  was  fresh,  the  sails  were  free, 
(")      High  dash'd  the  diamond  spray. 

And,  merrily  leaping  o'er  the  sea, 
The  light  skiff  left  the  bay  ! 

10.  But  soon  false,  evil  spirits  came, 
{si.)      And  strove,  with  costly  lure. 

To  bribe  her  maiden  heart  to  shame, 
And  win  her  jewel  pure. 

11.  They  swarmed  around  the  fragile  boat, 

They  brought  her  diamonds  rare. 
To  glisten  on  her  graceful  throat. 
And  bind  her  flowing  hair  ! 


iSd  SANDERS'    NEW   SERIES. 


12.  They  brought  her  gold  from  Afric-land, 

And  from  the  sea-king's  throne 
They  pilfer'd  gems,  to  grace  her  hand 
And  clasp  her  virgin  zone. 

13.  But  still  she  shook  the  silken  curl 

Back  from  her  beaming  eyes, 
And  cried, — "  I  bear  my  spotless  pearl 
Home,  home  to  yonder  skies  ! 

14.  "  Now  shame  ye  not  your  ocean  gems 

And  Eastern  gold  to  show  1 
Behold  !  how  mine  outburns  them  all ! 
God's  smile  is  in  its  glow !" 

15.  Fair  blows  the  wind,  the  sail  swells  free, 
(^)     High  shoots  the  diamond  spray. 

And  merrily  o'er  the  murmuring  sea 
The  light  boat  leaps  away  ! 

16.  Th«y  swarm 'd  around  the  fragile  bark, 

They  strove  with  costlier  lure. 
To  bribe  her  maiden  heart  to  shame, 
And  win  her  jewel  pure. 

1 7.  "  We  bring  thee  rank, — ^we  bring  thee  powev,- 

We  bring  thee  pleasures  free, — 

No  empress,  in  her  silk-hung  bower, 

May  queen  her  realm  like  thee ! 

18.  "  Now  yield  us  up  the  one  white  pearl  I 

'Tis  but  a  star  whose  ray 
Will  fail  thee,  rash,  devoted  girl, 
When  tempests  cloud  thy  way." 

19.  But  still  she  smiled  a  loftier  smile, 

And  raised  her  frank,  bright  eyes, 


YOUKG     LADIES'    EEADEK.  137 

And  cried, — "  I  bear  my  vestal  star 
(  c)     Home,  home  to  yonder  skies !" 

20.  The  wind  is  fresh — the  sail  swells  free — 
(")     High  shoots  the  diamond  spray  ! 

And  merrily  o'er  the  moaning  sea 
The  light  boat  leaps  away  ! 

21.  Suddenly,  stillness  broods  around, 
(*5j)     a  stillness  as  of  death. 

Above,  below — ^no  motion,  sound ! 
Hardly  a  struggling  breath  ! 

22.  Then  wild  and  fierce  the  tempest  came, 
(5; )       The  dark  wind-demons  clash'd 

Their  weapons  swift — the  air  was  flame  ! 
The  waves  in  madness  dash'd  ! 

23.  They  swarm'd  around  the  tossing  boat — 

"  Wilt  yield  thy  jewel  now  ? 
Look  !  look !  already  drenched  in  spray, 
It  trembles  at  the  prow. 

24.  "  Be  ours  the  gem  !  and,  safely  launched 

Upon  a  summer  sea. 
Where  never  cloud  may  frown  in  heaven, 
Thy  pinnace  light  shall  be  !" 

25.  But  still  she  smiled  a  fearless  smile. 

And  raised  her  trusting  eyes, 
And  cried, — "  I  bear  my  talisman 
(<)     Home,  home  to  yonder  skies  !" 

26.  And  safe  through  all  that  blinding  storm 

The  true  bark  floated  on, 


188  SANDERS'  NEW    SERIES. 

Aid  soft  its  pearl-illumined  prow 
'rhfough  all  the  tumult  shone  ! 

27.  An  angel,  guided  through  the  clouds 

By  that  most  precious  light, 
Flew  down  the  fairy  helm  to  take, 
And  steer  the  boat  aright. 

28.  Then  died  the  storm  upon  the  sea ! 

High  dash'd  the  diamond  spray, 
(")    And  merrily  leaping  light  and  free. 
The  shallop  sail'd  away. 

29.  And  meekly,  when  at  eve  her  bark 

Its  destined  port  had  found, 
She  moor'd  it  by  the  mellow  spark 
Her  jewel  shed  around  ! 

80.  Would'st  know  the  name  the  maiden  w6re  t 

'Twas  Inn6cence — like  thine  ! 
Would'st  know  the  pearl  she  nobly  bore  ? 
'Twas  Truth — a  gem  divine  ! 

31.   Thou  hast  the  jewel — keep  it  bright, 
Undimmed  by  mortal  fear. 
And  bathe  each  stain  upon  its  light 
With  Grief's  repentant  tear ! 

82.  Still  shrink  from  falsehood's  fairest  guise, 
By  flattery  unbeguiled  ; 
Still  let  thine  heart  speak  from  thine  eyes. 
My  pure  and  simple  child  ! 

Questions. — 1.  How,  according  to  the  notation  marks,  should  the 
20th,  21st,  and  22d  verses  be  read  ?  2.  Why  the  rising  inflection 
on  HOW,  23d  stanza?  3.  What  rule  for  the  inflections,  as  marked 
in  the  30th  stanza? 


YOUNG    LADIES'  READER.  189 

EXERCISE   XXXVIII. 
THERE    IS  A  GOD. 

CHATEAUBRIAND. 

1.  There  is  a  God !  The  herbs  of  the  valley,  the  cedars 
of  the  mountaiij,  bless  him — the  insect  sports  in  his  beams — 
the  elephant  salutes  him  with  the  rising  orb  of  day — the  bird 
sings  him  in  the  foliage — the  thunder  proclaims  him  in  the 
heavens — the  ocean  declares  his  immensity — man  alone  has 
said,  "There  is  no  God."* 

2.  Unite  in  thought,  at  the  same  instant,  the  most  beautiful 
objects  in  nature ;  suppo^  that  you  see  at  once  all  the  hours 
of  the  day,  and  all  the  seasons  of  the  year ;  a  morning  of 
spring,  and  a  morning  of  autumn;  a  night  bespangled  with 
stars,  and  a  night  covered  with  clouds ;  meadows  enameled 
with  flowers,  forests  hoary  with  snow ;  fields  gilded  by  the 
tints  of  autumn  ;  then  alone  you  will  have  a  just  conception 
of  the  universe. 

3.  While  you  are  gazing  on  that  sun  which  is  plunging 
under  the  vault  of  the  west,  another  observer  admires  him. 
emerging  from  the  gilded  gates  of  the  east.  By  what  incon- 
ceivable magic  does  that  aged  star,  which  is  sinking,  fatigued 
and  burning,  in  the  shades  of  the  evening,  re-appear,  at  the 
same  instant,  fresh  and  humid  with  the  rosy  dew  of  morning ! 
At  every  instant  of  the  day,  the  glorious  orb  is  at  once  rising, 
resplendent  at  noonday,  and  setting  in  the  west ;  or  rather 
our  senses  deceive  us,  and  there  is,  properly  speaking,  no 
east,  or  south,  or  west,  in  the  world.  Every  thing  reduces 
itself  to  one  single  point,  from  whence  the  King  of  Day  sends 
forth  at  once  a  triple  light  in  one  single  substance. 

4.  The  bright  splendor  is,  perhaps,  that  which  nature  can 
present,  that  is  most  beautiful ;  for  while  it  gives  us  an  idea  of 
the  perpetual  magnificence  and  resistless  power  of  God,  it  ex- 
hibits, at  the  same  time,  a  shining  image  of  the  glorious  Trinity. 

*  What  is  the  person  who  says, — "  There  is  no  God,"  called  in 
(Scripture  ?     See  Psalm  xiv.,  v.  1. 


I^  SANDERS'  NEW    SERIES. 


EXEKCISE  XXXIX 

A  NIGHT  IN  THE  DESERTS  OF  THE  NEW  WORLD. 

CHATEAUBRIAND. 

1.  One  evening  I  had  lost  my  way  in  a  forest,  at  a  short 
distance  from  the  Falls  of  Niagara.  Soon  the  day  expired 
around  me,  and  I  tasted,  in  all  its  solitude,  the  lovely  spec- 
tacle of  a  night  in  the  deserts  of  the  New  World.  An  hour 
after  sunset,  the  moon  showed  itself  above  the  branches,  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  horizon.  An  embalmed  breeze, 
which  the  Queen  of  Night  seemed  to  bring  with  her  from  the 
East,  preceded  her  with  its  freshening  gales. 

2.  The  solitary  star  ascended  by  degrees  in  the  heavens ; 
sometimes  she  followed  peaceably  her  azure  course,  sometimes 
she  reposed  on  the  groups  of  clouds,  which  resembled  the 
summits  of  lofty  mountains  covered  with  snow.  These 
clouds,  opening  and  closing  their  sails,  now  spread  themselves 
out  in  transparent  zones  of  white  satin,  now  dispersed  into 
light  bubbles  of  foam,  or  formed  in  the  heavens  bars  of 
white  so  dazzling  and  sweet,  that  you  could  almost  believe 
you  felt  their  snowy  surface. 

3.  The  scene  on  the  earth  was  of  equal  beauty;  the  declin- 
ing day,  and  the  light  of  the  moon,  descended  into  the  inter- 
vals of  the  trees,  and  spread  a  faint  gleam  even  in  the  pro- 
foundest  part  of  the  darkness.  The  river  which  flowed  at 
my  feet,  alternately  lost  itself  in  the  woods,  and  re-appeared 
brilliant  with  the  constellations  of  night  which  reposed  on  its 
bosom.  In  a  savanna  on  the  other  side  of  the  river,  the 
moonbeams  slept  without  movement  on  the  verdant  turf. 

4.  A  few  birches  agitated  by  the  breeze,  and  dispersed 
here  and  there,  formed  isles  of  floating  shadow  on  that  mo- 
tionless sea  of  light.  All  would  have  been  in  profound  re. 
pose,  but  for  the  fall  of  a  few  leaves,  the  breath  of  a  tran- 
sient breeze,  and  the  moaning  of  the  owl ;  while  in  the  dis- 
tance, at  intervals,  the  deep  roar  of  Niagara  was  heard,  which, 


YOUNG    LADIES'  READER.  141 

prolonged  from  desert  to  desert  in  the  calm  of  the  night, 
expired  at  length  in  the  endless  solitude  of  the  forest. 

5.  The  grandeur,  the  surpassing  melancholy  of  that  scene, 
can  be  expressed  by  no  human  tongue — the  finest  nights  of 
Europe  can  give  no  conception  of  it.  In  vain,  amidst  our 
cultivated  fields  does  the  imagnation  seek  to  expand — it  meets 
on  all  sides  the  habitations  of  men,  but,  in  those  savage  re- 
gions, the  soul  loves  to  shroud  itself  in  the  ocean  of  forests, 
to  hang  over  the  gulf  of  cataracts,  to  meditate  on  the  shores 
of  lakes  and  rivers,  and  feel  itself  alone  as  it  were  with  God. 


EXERCISE    XL, 


1.  The  Beau-Ideal  is  the  idea,  or  conception  of  \v^hat  is  perfect ; 
an  image,  in  the  mind,  of  beauty  without  blemish  or  deformity  of 
any  kind. 

2.  The  Venus  of  Flokence  is  a  celebrated  statue  of  the  goddess 
Venus,  in  the  imperial  gallery  at  Florence.  Though  small,  it  is  of 
beautiful  proportions  and  exquisite  finish,  but  with  a  face  of  little 
expression,  as  observed  in  the  piece  below. 

PLAINNESS  verms  BEAUTY. 

ROBERT   CHAMBERS. 

1.  The  very  admiration  we  bestow  on  beauty  tends  to 
diminish  its  title  to  esteem.  The  possessor  of  the  quality 
becomes  puffed  up  with  the  homage  of  our  gaze,  and  deems 
nothing  else  to  be  necessary  to  secure  approbation.  But 
though  this  is  the  usual  and  plain-sailing  way  of  accounting 
for  the  inferiority  of  character,  which  too  often  attends  good 
looks,  there  is,  perhaps,  another  and  better  reason  for  our  never 
attaching  the  idea  of  intellectual  or  moral  excellence  to  beauty. 

2.  There  is  considerable  reason  for  supposing  that  the  beau- 
ideaP  of  beauty  is  also  the  beau-ideal  of  insipidity,  and  that 
it  is  only  in  certain  degrees  of  departure  from  the  former 
property,  that  we  find  certain  degrees  of  exemption  from  the 
Jfttter.    Thus,  the  exquisite  Venus  of  Florence,'  the  wonder 


142  SANDERS'     NEW     SERIES. 

and  the  passion  of  the  world,  is  not  less  remarkable  for  the 
absence  of  every  appearance  of  mental  charm,  than  for  the 
possession  of  every  animal  grace. 

3.  And,  if  we  cast  back  upon  all  the  faces  we  have  most 
admired,  we  will  be  apt  to  confess,  in  regard  to  most  of  them, 
that  it  was  not  perfect  beauty,  but  only  some  approach  to  it, 
that  we  were  delighted  with.  There  seems  to  be  a  mysteri- 
ous sense,  either  the  result  of  frequent  observation,  or  an  in 
nate  and  instinctive  faculty,  which  leads  us  to  attach  ideas  of 
uncertainty  and  emptiness  to  beauty,  even  at  the  moment 
our  eye  is  gratified  with  the  sight  of  it.  It  is  only  considered 
as  a  tincture,  a  rainbow  in  the  heaven  of  the  human  face,  a 
finery  which  is  presently  to  pass  away,  leaving  something 
tawdry  behind.  Plain  looks  are  something  in  the  regular 
course  of  things — a  consistent,  uniform  peculiarity ;  but  beau- 
ty  is  a  mere  accident. 

4.  It  is  in  the  female  face  that  beauty  is  most  advantageous 
and  least  harmful.  It  is  natural  there ;  we  look  for  it ;  and, 
when  we  find  it  in  a  certain  degree,  it  usually  conveys  a 
pleasing  impression.  Even  here,  however,  we  still  allow  it 
only  the  admiration  due  to  a  thing  affecting  the  physical  sur- 
face, and  are  apt  to  look  with  more  expectation  to  a  plain  face 
for  those  inner  qualities  which  are  most  entitled  to  esteem. 
We  look  on  beauty  as  we  look  upon  the  rose — the  fairest  of 
flowers  while  it  lasts,  but  proverbially  short-lived  and  easily 
blighted. 

5.  Plainness,  on  the  other  hand,  is  the  unpretending  ever- 
green which  is  to  adorn  our  garden  with  a  certain  steady 
amount  of  good  looks  all  the  year  round.  Beauty  seems  to 
have  an  unfortunate  effect  upon  the  most  of  females,  filling 
them  with  affectation  and  conceit.  Hence,  it  often  happens 
that  men  retire  with  contempt  and  indignation  from  the  tem- 
ple of  vain  beauty,  and  unite  themselves  with  homely  good 
sense  and  true  unpretending  gentleness. 

6.  Look  around  both  the  natural  and  the  artificial  world, 
and  it  will  be  found  tliat  similar  associations  are  every  where 


YOUNG    LADIES'   READER.  143 

awakened.  Whatever  is  most  beautiful  in  the  sky,  on  the 
ground,  in  the  tribes  of  animated  nature,  carries  to  us  the  im- 
pression of  brevity  of  duration  and  insolidity  of  substance.  I 
might  except  the  heavenly  bodies,  if  I  thought  it  strictly 
proper  to  style  those  objects  beautiful.  The  blossom  passes 
away  before  the  leaf,  and  the  leaf  falls,  while  the  tree,  the 
least  beautiful  of  the  whole,  remains.  The  goldfinch  is  the 
creature  of  a  few  summers,  while  the  raven  lives  a  century. 

7.  The  air  fills  in  an  hour  with  creatures  that  seem  shed 
prismatically  from  sunbeams,  but  which,  in  another  hour,  sink 
back  into  their  real  nativity,  the  dust.  The  gay  poppy  is  but 
a  weed  ;  the  food  of  man  is  found  in  the  bristling  and  repul- 
sive corn.  In  the  artificial  world  we  habitually  expect  the 
sound  and  plain  to  go  together. 

8.  A  gaudy-colored  dress  is  usually  a  thin  thing  of  ging- 
ham and  gauze,  designed  only  to  be  worn  for  a  few  sunshiny 
forenoons.  The  most  valuable  articles  of  attire  are  generally 
simple  in  form  and  hue ;  and  so  accustomed  are  we  to  judge 
accordingly,  that  to  make  an  unsubstantial  thing  sober  in 
color,  would  be  the  surest  way  to  gain  for  it  some  share  of 
sincere  esteem. 


EXERCISE  XLI. 


THE  OLD  HOUSE  CLOCK. 

harper's  1ifA(  azinb. 

1.      0 !  the  old,  old  clock  of  the  household  stock. 
Was  the  brightest  thing,  and  neatest ; 
Its  hands,  though  old,  had  a  touch  of  gold, 

And  its  chimes  rang  still  the  sweetest ; 
'Twae  a  monitor,  too,  though  its  words  were  few, 
^      Yet  they  lived,  though  nations  altered  ; 

And  its  voice,  still  strong,  warned  old  and  young, 
When  the  voice  of  friendship  faltered ; 
(")    «  Tick !  tick  !"  it  said,  "  quick,  quick  to  bed  j 
For  ten  I  've  given  warning ; 


144  SANDEKS'     NEW     SERIES. 


Up !  up  !  and  go,  or  else  you  know, 

You  '11  never  rise  soon  in  the  morning  !" 

2.      A  friendly  voice  was  that  old,  old  clock, 

As  it  stood  in  the  corner  smiling, 
And  blessed  the  time  with  a  merry  chime, 

The  wintry  hours  beguiling ; 
But  a  cross  old  voice  was  that  tiresome  clock, 

As  it  called  at  daybreak  boldly ; 
When  the  dawn  looked  gray  o'er  the  misty  way, 

And  the  early  air  looked  coldly : 
"  Tick  !  tick  !"    it  said,  "  quick  out  of  bed  ; 

Tor  five  I  've  given  warning  ; 
You  '11  never  have  health,  you  '11  never  have  wealth, 

Unless  you  're  up  soon  in  the  morning  !" 

8.     Still  hourly  the  sound  goes  round  and  round, 
With  a  tone  that  ceases  never ; 
While  tears  are  shed  for  bright  days  fled, 
(j>l)      And  the  old  friends  lost  for  ever ! 

Its  heart  beats  on, — though  hearts  are  gone. 

That  beat  like  ours,  though  stronger  ; 
Its  hands  still  move, — though  hands  we  love. 

Are  clasped  on  earth  no  longer  ! 
"  Tick  !  tick  !"  it  said,  "  to  the  church-yard  bed, 
The  grave  hath  given  warning : 
•    Up  !  up  !  and  rise,  and  look  at  the  skies, 
And  prepare  for  a  heavenly  morning !" 


EXERCISE   XLII. 


1.  Pkomethean,  pertaining  to  Prometheus ;  vrho,  according  to  the 
old  mythology  of  the  Greeks,  was  exposed  to  the  wrath  of  Jupiter, 
on  account  of  his  having  taught  mortals  the  arts,  and  especially  the 
use  of  fire :  stealing  it,  for  that  purpose,  from  heaven,  and  conceal' 
ing  it  in  a  pipe,  or  hollow  staff. 


rOUNG     LADIES'    READER.  145 


NATURE'S  GENTLEMAN. 

ELIZA    COOK. 
I. 

"Whom  do  we  dub  as  gentleman?     The  knave,  the  fo6l,  the  brito, 
If  they  but  own  full  tithe  of  gold,  and  wear  a  courtly  suit  1 
The  parchment  scroll  of  titled  line, — the  ribbon  at  the  knee. 
Can  still  suffice  to  ratify  and  grant  such  high  degree  ! 

II. 
But  Kature,  with  a  matchless  hand,  sends  forth  her  nobly  born, 
And  laughs  the  paltry  attributes  of  wealth  and  rank  to  scorn; 
She  molds  with  care  a  spirit  rare,  half  human,  half  divine. 
And  cries,  exulting  :  "  Who  can  make  a  gentleman  like  mine  ? 

III. 
She  may  not  spend  her  common  skill  about  the  outward  part, 
But  showers    beauty,    grace,    and    light,    upon    the    brain  and 

heart. 
She  may  not  choose  ancestral  fame,  his  pathway  to  illume; 
The  sun  that  sheds  the  brightest  day,  may  rise  from  mist  and 

gloom. 

IV. 

Should  Fortune  pour  her  welcome  store,  and  useful  gold  abound, 
He  shares  it  with  a  bounteous  hand,  and  scatters  blessings  round: 
The  treasure  sent,  is  rightly  spent,  and  serves  the  end  designed. 
When  held  by  Nature's  gentleman, — the  good, — the  just, — the  kind. 

V. 

He  turns  not  from  the  cheerless  home,  where  Sorrow's  otscprtng 

dwell. 
He  '11  greet  the  peasant  in  his  hut,  the  culprit  in  his  cell. 
He  stays  to  hear  the  widow's  plaint  of  deep  and  mourning  love, 
He  seeks  to  aid  her  lot  below,  and  prompt  her  faith  above. 

VI. 

The  orphan  child, — the  friendless  one, — the  luckless  or  the  poor. 
Will  never  meet  his  spuming  frown,  or  leave  his  bolted  door. 

7 


146  SANDERS'    NEW    SEBIES. 


His  kindred  circles  all  mankind,  his  country  all  the  globe, 
Au  honest  name  his  jeweled  star,  truth  his  ermine  robe. 

vu. 

He  wisely  yields  his  passions  up  to  reason's  firm  control : 
His  pleasures  are  of  crimeless  kind,  and  never  taint  the  soul. 
He  may  be  thrown  among  the  gay  and  reckless  sons  of  life, 
But  will  not  love  the  revel  scene,  or  heed  the  brawling  strife. 


He  wounds  no  breast  with  jeer  or  jest,  yet  bears  no  honeyed 

tongue ; 
He  's  social  with  the  gray-haired  one,  and  merry  with  the  young. 
He  gravely  shares  the  council  speech,  or  joins  the  rustic  game, 
JLnd  shines  as  Nature's  gentleman,  in  every  place  the  same. 


IX. 

Ho  haughty  gesture  marks  his  gait,  no  pompoustone  his  word, 
Ko  studied  attitude  is  seen,  no  palling  nonsense  heard ; 
He  '11  suit  his  bearing  to  the  hour, — laugh,  listen,  learn,  or  teach, 
With  joyous  freedom  in  his  mirth,  and  candor  in  his  speech. 

X. 

He  worships  God  with    inward   zeal,  and  serves  him  in  each 

deed; 
He  would  not  blame  another's  faith,  nor  have  one  martyr  bleed; 
Justice  and  mercy  form  his  code ;  he  puts  his  trust  in  Heaven  ; 
His  prayer  is,—"  If  the  heart  mean  well,  may  all  else  be  for 

given!" 

XI. 

Though  few  of  such  may  gem  the  earth,  yet  such  rare  gems  there 

are. 
Each  shining  in  his  hallowed  sphere,  as  virtue's  polar  star. 
Though  human  hearts,  too  oft  are  found,  all  gross,  corrupt  and 

dark, 
Yet,  yet,  some  bosoms  breathe  and  burn,  lit  by  Promethean'  sp.<irk. 


YOUNG    LADIES'  READER.  147 


XII. 

There  are  some  spirits,  nobly  just,  unwarped  by  pelf  oi  pride, 
Great  in  the  calm,  but  greater  still,  when  dashed  by  adverse  tide ; 
They  hold  the  rank  no  king  can  give,  no  station  can  disgrace; 
Nature  puts  forth  her  gentleman,  and  monarchs  must  give  place. 

Questions. — 1.  Why  the  falling  inflection  on  gentleman,  first  line, 
first  stanza  ?  2.  Why  the  falling  on  the  knave,  fool,  and  brute,  same 
line  ?  See  Rule  XL  page  27.  3.  On  what  principle  is  the  word  her 
emphatic,  in  the  second  and  twelfth  stanzas  ?     See  Note  VII.  p.  22. 


EXERCISE    XLIII. 
THE  HERITAGE. 

JAMES  BUSSELL  LOWELL. 

1.  The  rich  man's  son  inherits  lands, 

And  piles  of  brick,  and  stone,  and  gold, 
And  he  inherits  soft,  white  hands, 

And  tender  flesh  that  fears  the  cold. 

Nor  dares  to  wear  a  garment  old  ; 
A  heritage,  it  seems  to  me, 
One  scarce  would  wish  to  hold  in  fee. 

2.  The  rich  man's  son  inherits  cares ; 

The  bank  may  break,  the  factory  bum, 
A  breath  may  burst  his  bubble  shares. 

And  soft,  white  hands  could  hardly  earn 

A  living  that  would  serve  his  turn ; 
A  heritage,  it  seems  to  me, 
One  scarce  would  wish  to  hold  in  fee. 

3.  The  rich  man's  son  inherits  wants. 

His  stomach  craves  for  dainty  fare  ; 
With  sated  heart  he  hears  the  pants 
Of  toiling  hinds  with  brown  arms  bare, 
And  wearies  in  his  easy  chair ; 


14:8  SANDERS'    NEW    SERIES. 

A  heritage,  it  seems  to  me, 

One  scarce  would  wish  to  hold  in  fee. 

4.  What  doth  the  poor  man's  son  inherit  ? 

Stout  muscles  and  a  sinewy  heart, 
A  hardy  frame,  a  hardier  spirit ; 
King  of  two  hands,  he  does  his  part 
In  every  useful  toil  and  art ; 
A  heritage,  it  seems  to  me, 
A  king  might  wish  to  hold  in  fee. 

5.  What  doth  the  poor  man's  son  inherit  1 

Wishes  o'erjoyed  with  humble  things, 
A  rank  adjudged  with  toil-won   merit, 
Content  that  from  employment  springs, 
A  heart  that  in  his  labor  sings ; 
A  heritage,  it  seems  to  me, 
A  king  might  wish  to  hold  in  fee. 

6.  What  doth  the  poor  man's  son  inherit  ? 

A  patience  learned  by  being  poor, 
Courage,  if  sorrow  come,  to  bear  it, 
A  fellow-feeling  that  is  sure 
To  make  the  outcast  bless  his  door ; 
A  heritage,  it  seems  to  me, 
A  king  might  wish  to  hold  in  fee. 

7.  O  rich  man  3  son  !  there  is  a  toil, 

That  with  all  other  level  stands ; 
Large  charity  doth  never  soil. 

But  only  whiten,  soft,  white  hands,— 
This  is  the  best  crop  from  thy  lands ; 
A  heritage,  it  seems  to  me. 
Worth  being  rich  to  hold  in  fee. 

8.  O  poor  man's  son !  scorn  not  thy  state  ; 

There  is  worse  weariness  than  thine, 


YOUNG     LADIES'     READER.  149 

In  merely  being  rich  and  great ; 

Toil  only  gives  the  soul  to  shine, 

And  makes  rest  fragrant  and  benign ; 
A  heritage,  it  seems  to  me. 
Worth  being  poor  to  hold  in  fee. 

Both,  heirs  to  some  six  feet  of  sod, 

Are  equal  in  the  earth  at  last ; 
Both,  children  of  the  same  dear  God, 

Prove  title  to  your  heirship- vast 

By  record  of  a  well-filled  past ; 
A  heritage,  it  seems  to  me, 
Well  worth  a  life  to  hold  in  fee. 


EXERCISE    XLIV. 
TRUE  ESTIMATE   OF  CHARACTER. 

TATTLER. 

1.  It  is  to  me  a  very  great  meanness,  and  something  much 
below  a  philosopher,  which  is  what  I  mean  by  a  gentleman, 
to  rank  a  man  among  the  vulgar  for  the  condition  of  life  he 
is  in,  and  not  according  to  his  behavior,  his  thoughts,  and  sen- 
timents, in  that  condition.  For,  if  a  man  be  loaded  with 
riches  and  honors,  and  in  that  state  of  life  has  thoughts  and 
inclinations  below  the  meanest  artificer  ;  is  not  such  an  arti- 
ficer, who,  within  his  power,  is  good  to  his  friends,  moderate 
in  his  demands  for  his  labor,  and  cheerful  in  his  occupation, 
very  much  superior  to  him  who  lives  for  no  other  end  but  to 
serve  himself,  and  assumes  a  preference  in  all  his  words  and 
actions  to  those  who  act  their  part  with  much  more  grace 
than  himself? 

2.  Epictetus  has  made  use  of  the  similitude  of  a  stage-play 
to  human  life  with  much  spirit.  "  It  is  not,"  says  he,  "  to  be 
considered  among  the  actors,  who  is  prince,  or  who  is  beggar, 


150  SANDERS'     NEW     SERIES. 

but  who  acts  prince  or  beggar  best."  The  circumstance  of 
life  should  not  be  that  which  gives  us  place,  but  our  be- 
havior in  that  circumstance  is  what  should  be  our  solid  dis- 
tinction. 

3.  Thus,  a  wise  man  should  think  no  man  above  him  or  be- 
low him,  any  further  than  it  regards  the  outward  order  or 
discipline  of  the  world  ;  for,  if  we  conceive  too  great  an  idea 
of  the  eminence  of  our  superiors,  or  subordination  of  our  infe- 
riors, it  will  have  aii  ill  effect  upon  our  behavior  to  both.  He 
who  thinks  no  man  above  him  but  for  his  virtue,  none  below 
him  but  for  his  vice,  can  never  be  obsequious  or  assuming  in 
a  wrong  place  ;  but  will  frequently  emulate  men  in  rank  be- 
low him,  and  pity  those  above  him. 

4.  This  sense  of  mankind  is  so  far  from  a  leveling  princi- 
ple, that  it  only  sets  us  upon  a  true  basis  of  distinction,  and 
doubles  *he  merit  of  such  as  become  their  condition.  A  man 
in  power,  who  can,  without  the  ordinary  prepossessions  which 
stop  the  way  to  the  true  knowledge  and  service  of  mankind, 
overlook  the  little  distinctions  of  fortune,  raise  obscure  merit, 
and  discountenance  successful  indesert,  has,  in  the  minds  of 
knowing  men,  the  figure  of  an  angel  rather  than  a  man  ;  and 
is  above  the  rest  of  men  in  the  highest  character  he  can  be, 
even  that  of  their  benefactor. 


j  EXERCISE    XLV. 

•  NOVELTY. 

HENRY   GROVK. 

1.  One  advantage  of  our  inclination  for  novelty  is,  that  it 
annihilates  all  the  boasted  distinctions  among  mankind.  Look 
not  up  with  envy  to  those  above  thee !  Sounding  titles, 
stately  buildings,  fine  gardens,  gilded  chariots,  rich  equipages, 
what  are  they  ?  Tiiey  dazzle  every  one  but  the  possessor ; 
to  him  that  is  accustomed  to  them,  they  are  cheap  and  re- 
gardless things  :  they  supply  him  not  with  brighter  images  or 


YOUNG    LADIES'  READEB.  151 


more  sublime  satisfactions,  than  the  plain  man  may  have, 
whose  small  estate  will  just  enable  him  to  support  the 
charge  of  a  simple,  unencumbered  life.  He  enters  heed- 
less into  his  rooms  of  state,  as  you  or  I  do  under  our  poor 
sheds. 

2.  The  noble  paintings  and  costly  furniture  are  lost  on  him ; 
he  sees  them  not ;  as  how  can  it  be  otherwise,  when,  by  cus- 
tom, a  fabric  infinitely  more  grand  and  finished,  that  of  the 
universe,  stands  unobserved  by  the  inhabitants,  and  the  ever- 
lasting lamps  of  heaven  are  lighted  up  in  vain,  for  any  notice 
that  mortals  take  of  them  ?  Thanks  to  indulgent  Nature, 
which  not  only  placed  her  children  originally  upon  a  level, 
but  still,  by  the  strength  of  this  principle,  in  a  great  measure 
preserves  it,  in  spite  of  all  the  care  of  man  to  introduce  arti- 
ficial distinctions. 

3.  To  add  no  more — is  not  this  fondness  for  novelty,  which 
makes  us  out  of  conceit  with  all  we  already  have,  a  convinc- 
ing proof  of  a  future  state  1  Either  man  was  made  in  vain, 
or  this  is  not  the  only  world  he  was  made  for ;  for  there  can 
not  be  a  greater  instance  of  vanity  than  that  to  which  man  is 
liable,  to  be  deluded  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave  with  fleet- 
ing shadows  of  happiness.  His  pleasures,  and  those  not  con- 
siderable neither,  die  in  the  possession,  and  fresh  enjoyments 
do  not  rise  fast  enough  to  fill  up  half  his  life  with  satisfaction. 

4.  When  I  see  persons  sick  of  themselves  any  longer  than 
they  are  called  away  by  something  that  is  of  force  to  chain 
down  the  present  thought ;  when  I  see  them  hurry  from 
country  to  town,  and  then  from  the  town  back  again  into  the 
country,  continually  shifting  postures,  and  placing  life  in  all 
the  different  lights  they  can  think  of:  "Surely,"  say  I  to 
myself,  "  life  is  vain,  and  the  man  beyond  expression  stupid 
or  prejudiced,  who,  from  the  vanity  of  life,  can  not  gather 
that  he  is  designed  for  immortality." 


152  SANDERS'  NEW    SERIES. 

EXERCISE    XLVI. 
A  PITIABLE  PATIENT. 

PHYSICIAN     AND      LADY. 

Phys.  Madam,  you  look  exceedingly  well  this  morning  :  I 
hope  you  feel  yourself  recovered  from  your  indisposition. 

Lady  {rather  warmly).  I  am  astonished,  sir,  that  a  gentle- 
man of  your  skill  should  be  deceived  by  appearances :  I  was 
never  worse  in  my  life. 

Phys.  {smiling).  Indeed  !  will  you  favor  me  with  some  ac- 
count of  the  symptoms  of  your  illness  1 

Lady.  Really,  I  can  do  no  such  thing :  all  I  feel  assured  of 
is,  that  I  am  altogether  in  a  state  of  torture. 

Phys.  What !  madam,  are  you  in  bodily  pain  1 

Lady.  No.     I  have  a  horrid  freedom  from  any  pain. 

Phys.  Some  painful  object,  perhaps,  affects  your  mind  1 

Lady.  No,  sir.  My  agony  is,  that  I  have  not  one  subject 
which  can,  in  the  smallest  degree,  interest  me  :  I  would  give 
a  hundred  pounds  for  some  serious  cause  of  grief,  something 
over  which  I  could  weep  profusely. 

Phys.  Your  case  is  certainly  pitiable,  but  I  hope  not  with- 
out remedy.  Will  you  allow  me  to  ask  you,  madam,  how 
you  have  spent  the  last  week  ? 

Lady.  Upon  my  word,  sir,  it  is  out  of  my  power  to  comply 
with  your  request.  I  really  keep  no  journal,  and  my  memory 
has  not  such  a  prodigious  tenacity  as  you  suppose.  I  will  en- 
deavor to  give  you  an  account  of  the  last  two  days.  Aye — this 
is  Wednesday.    Well,  sir,  I  rose  on  Monday  morning,  and — • 

Phys.  May  I  ask  at  what  hour  you  rose  ? 

Lady  {with  a  slight  blush).  It  was  rather  late  :  two  o'clock, 
I  believe ;  but  I  had  been  at  a  party  during  almost  the  whole 
of  the  precedhig  night.  As  soon  as  I  was  dressed,  I  rode  to 
the  Park. 

Phys.  You  have  not  mentioned  your  breakfast  I  hope 
you  did  not  omit  that  essential  meal. 


YOUNG     LADIES'     READER.  153 

Lady  {a  little  vexed).  I — I  took  my  breakfast  in  bed.  Well, 
sir,  tlie  Park  was  so  crowded  that  my  carriage  could  hardly 
move  along  :  this  would  not  have  annoyed  me  much,  but  un- 
fortunately it  was  a  very  cold  day,  and,  having  a  slight  rheu- 
matism in  my  face,  I  could  not  venture  to  put  down  the  win- 
dow ;  so  that,  sir,  I  had  no  opportunity  of  showing  my  new 
French  head-dress  and  shawl.  You  will  allow,  sir,  that  this 
was  a  very  mortifying  circumstance. 

Phys.  Be  assured,  madam,  of  my  sympathy. 

Lady.  Well,  sir  :  I  returned  home  in  expectation  of  finding 

Professor  B ,  who  had  promised  to  dedicate  a  concerto  to 

me  :  the  traitor  was  not  there,  but  in  his  stead  a  letter  of 
apology,  in  which  he  pretended  to  recollect  that  he  was  under 
a  previous  obligation  to  dedicate  the  thing  to  Lady  Belville  ; 
but  I  understand  the  whole  affair-^she  has  been  bribing  him. 

I  flung  away  the  letter  in  contempt ;  but  what  was  I  to  do 
with  my  spare  time  %  It  wanted  nearly  three  hours  to  din- 
ner, and  as  my  toilet  only  occupies  two,  I  had  an  hour  upon 
my  hands.  It  was  impossible  to  have  recourse  to  my  music, 
having  been  so  recently  ill  treated  by  one  of  its  professors  ; 
books  I  cannot  read  ;  even  French  tales  have  become  insipid. 
Luckily  I  fell  asleep. 

In  the  evening,  I  went  to  Mrs.  Merton's  rout ;  but,  such  is 
my  ill  fortune,  that  I  really  think  that  there  is  a  conspiracy  to 
reduce  me  to  a  state  of  apathy.  Would  you  believe  it,  sir, 
that,  although  I  played  till  three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  I 
could  neither  win  nor  lose,  though  I  made  every  effort  in  my 
power  by  extravagant  betting  and  careless  playing.  You  see 
that  my  case  is  hopeless. 

Phys.  Tolerably  bad  ;  but  I  trust  not  incurable. 

Lady.  You  will  change  your  opinion  when  you  hear  more. 
I  was  determined  yesterday  morning  to  indemnify  myself  for 
the  vexations  of  the  preceding  day  :  I  ordered  my  carriage  by 
two  o'clock,  and  had  already  put  on  my  favorite  French  bon- 
net and  shawl,  when  a  servant  came  in  and  announced  my 
mischievous  cousin,  Lady  Courton. 

7* 


154  SANDERS'    NEW   SERIES. 

Ifc  ^yas  no  slight  evil  to  be  interrupted  just  as  I  was  going 
on  my  morning  expedition  ;  but  what  was  my  horror,  when 
Lady  Courton  entered  with  a  shawl  twice  as  beautiful  as  my 
own  !  I  nearly  fainted  :  she  saw  my  distress,  and  instantly 
discovered  the  cause  of  it ;  but,  with  her  usual  malice,  began 
to  tease  me  by  desiring  me  to  admire  it,  and  to  guess  its 
value. 

After  harassing  me  for  half  an  hour,  she  observed  that  she 
would  not  detain  me,  as  I  appeared  to  be  going  out.  We 
went  down  stairs  together  ;  but,  to  my  astonishment,  I  could 
not  see  her  carriage.  "  What 's  the  matter,  my  dear  cousin  ?" 
she  exclaimed.  "  Where  's  your  carriage  1"  I  asked.  "  Is 
that  all  ?"  she  said,  laughing  :  "  O — I  sent  it  away  ;  for  you 
must  know  that  I  intended  to  lounge  away  the  morning  with 
you  at  your  pianoforte  ;  but,  as  you  are  for  a  ride,  I  '11  ac- 
company you."  Was  ever  any  thing  so  consummately  ill-na- 
tured ?  You  know,  sir,  it  was  quite  impossible  that  I  could 
take  her  into  my  chariot,  and  make  myself  a  foil  to  show  her 
finery.     I  felt  a  sudden  giddiness,  and  declined  going  out. 

P/iys.  It  certainly  was  a  matter  of  much  embarrassment, 
but  I  doubt  whether  it  amounted  to  a  physical  or  moral  im- 
possibility. 

Ladj/.  The  case,  sir,  is  so  peculiarly  feminine,  that  I  can  not 
allow  you  to  be  an  adequate  judge  of  it. 

Phys.  Your  reproof  is  very  just.  But  how  did  you  spend 
the  remainder  of  the  day,  which  began  so  miserably  1 

LadT/.  Worse  and  worse.  My  cousin  tormented  me  till 
nine  o'clock,  when  I  left  her  and  went  to  the  opera. 

Pkys.  Here,  madam,  you  received,  no  doubt,  some  pleas- 
urable compensation,  for  the  troubles  of  the  day. 

Lady.  Quite  the  contrary.  I  was  tired  to  death.  How 
could  it  be  otherwise,  when  I  heard  only  one  tolerable  song, 
and  saw  only  one  tolerable  dancer.  I  was  engaged  to  a  sup- 
per party  at  Lady  Belville's ;  but  as  I  knew  that  treacherous 
professor  would  be  there,  I  would  not  go  to  swell  her  inso- 
lent triumph :  so  I  drove  home,  and  went  to  bed.     Now,  sir, 


YOUNG     LADIES'     READER.  155 

you  have  heard  my  case,  what  remedy  do  you  suggest  for 
my  miseries  1 

Phys.  My  remedy,  I  am  afraid,  will  not  be  very  palatable ; 
but  I  will  stake  my  reputation  on  its  efficacy.  In  the  first 
place,  madam,  I  must  positively  insist  that  you  go  but  to  one 
rout  in  a  week,  if  to  any. 

Lady.  Monstrous  and  impossible  ! 

Phys.  It  may  be  so,  madam  ;  but  you  must  vanquish  the 
monster,  and  make  "  impossibility  slight  work."  In  the  next 
place,  you  must  never  breakfast  in  bed,  but  must  rise — let 
me  see,  I  will  not  be  too  harsh— at  eight  o'clock,  under  pen- 
alty of — 

Lady.  "What  penalty,  sir  ? 

Phys.  Under  penalty,  madam,  of  losing  that  cheerful 
bloom  of  your  complexion,  and  that  elastic  elegance  of  your 
limbs,  for  which  you  are  now  so  justly  celebrated. 

Lady.  Sir,  you  seem  a  judicious  person,  but  your  prescrip- 
tion is  very  rigid. 

Phys.  In  the  third  place,  you  must  become  more  independ- 
ent of  your  dress.  I  see,  madam,  and  understand  that  con- 
temptuous frown  ;  but  hear  me  further.  While  you  rely  for 
fame  on  the  splendor  or  beauty  of  your  dress,  you  are  likely 
to  be  perpetually  worsted  by  the  lucky  purchaser  of  some 
more  exquisite  ornament,  or  the  ingenious  propagator  of  some 
new  fashion.  Surely,  madam,  it  will  be  better  to  trust  to  the 
irresistible  graces  of  your  person — I  speak,  madam,  merely 
professionally — to  the  enchanting  character  of  your  conversa- 
tion, than  to  a  French  bonnet  or  a  French  shawl.  You  will 
thus  be  sure  of  perpetual  admiration  ;  for  I  can  not  learn  that 
you  need  fear  any  competitors  on  this  score. 

Lady  {smiling  most  graciously).  I  am  sure,  sir,  you  will 
never  find  me  an  intractable  patient :  you  know,  sir,  I  always 
had  the  utmost  confidence  in  your  judgment. 

Phys.  You  do  me  honor,  madam.  In  the  fourth  place,  you 
must  not  give  up  your  music,  because  a  mean-minded  professor 
has  so  shamefully  affronted  you.     I  presume,  madam,  that 


156  SANDERS'  NEW    SERIES. 

you  have  no  cause  of  complaint  against  Mozart ;  he  can  not 
have  been  so  ungrateful  as  to  offend  a  lady  who  adds  grace 
to  his  most  consummate  harmonies. 

Lady  (affecting  to  laugh).  You  are  very  pleasant  this 
morning,  sir ;  and  really  your  advice  seems  very  reasonable : 
I  shall  consider  it  very  seriously.  But  come,  sir,  I  feel  as  if 
I  were  much  better.  The  carriage,  I  see,  is  at  the  door  ;  and 
you  must  allow  me  to  ask  your  company  to  Johnson's,  where 
I  want  your  judgment  on  a  picture  which  I  think  of  purchas- 
ing.    Your  carriage  can  follow. 

Phys.  I  have  not  much  time  for  viewing  pictures,  but  I 
shall  be  proud  to  attend  you  for  a  short  time.  I  am  glad  to 
see  you  so  much  better. 

Lady.  My  spirits  are  much  less  depressed  than  they  were. 

Phys.  If  you  follow  my  advice,  you  will  continue  to  be 
equally  cheerful  as  now. 

Lady.  We  will  talk  more  about  that  as  we  ride  along. 
You  must  not  administer  your  remedy  all  at  one  time.  But 
come,  sir,  the  carriage  is  ready. 

Phys.  I  attend  you,  madam.  (Aside.)  0  Flattery  !  were 
you  never  used  for  worse  purposes,  a  flatterer  might  become, 
in  some  sense,  a  benefactor  of  the  race. 


EXERCISE    XLVII 


About  ten  miles  to  the  south  of  Dublin,  and  just  on  the  borders  of 
the  county  of  Wicklow,  is  situated  a  very  beautiful  and  romantio 
glen,  called  "the  Dargle,"  the  joint  property  of  Lord  Monk,  and  the 
Hon.  James  Grattan,  son  of  the  late  celebrated  orator.  To  this  cho- 
Ben  spot  many  a  gay  and  happy  party  repair  from  the  noise  and 
l)ustl3  of  the  city,  to  enjoy  its  delightful  scenery,  a  cold  dinner  in 
"Grattan's  Cottage,"  and  a  dance  at  evening  on  the  grass,  A  rock, 
■which  is  called  the  "Lover's  Leap,  rises  to  a  considerable  hight 
above  the  glen.  The  circumstance  which  gave  it  that  name,  is  de- 
tailed in  the  following  little  poem,  which  is  supposed  to  be  recited 
p^ar  the  spot. 


YOUNG    LADIES"   READER.  157 


THE  LOVER'S  LEAP. 

IITERART   MAGNET. 

1.  Behold  yon  beetling  rock,  whose  brow 
Hangs  pending  o'er  the  glen  below ; 
A  tale,  not  easily  forgot, 

Is  told  of  that  same  fearful  spot ; 

And  thus  it  runs  : — One  summer's  day, 

A  bridal  party  blithe  and  gay, 

Came  hither  to  enjoy  the  scene, 

And  dance  at  evening  on  the  green. 

Maria  was  the  gentle  bride, 

Her  husband's  joy,  her  parents'  pride, 

That  morning  sun  arose,  to  shed 

Its  luster  on  her  happy  head, 

But  ere  its  parting  beams  glanc'd  down, 

On  valley  green,  and  mountain  brown, 

A  mourning  bride  she  was  ! 

2.  They  laugh'd  and  revel 'd  till  the  sun 
In  heav'n  his  mid-day  course  begun, 
When,  to  avoid  the  scorching  heat. 

In  groups  they  sought  some  cool  retreat, 
Maria,  w^ith  her  bosom  friend. 
In  yonder  grove,  retir'd  to  spend 
An  hour  of  confidence,  and  share 
The  breezes  that  were  sporting  there  ; 
While  William,  full  of  hope  and  joy, 
His  happy  moments  to  employ, 
Wound  through  that  rocky  path  to  gain 
A  prospect  of  the  neighb'ring  plain. 
Which,  bounded  by  the  distant  skies. 
In  variegated  beauty  lies. 

S.     His  steps  were  watch' d,  his  way  pursued, 
By  one  who  thirsted  for  his  blood, 


158  SANDERS'  NEW    SERIES. 


Inflam'd  by  jealousy  and  fir'd 
By  fiendish  rage,  he  but  desir'd 
To  live  to  strike  a  deadly  blow, 
And  lay  his  hated  rival  low. 
He  lov'd  Maria,  and  he  strove, 
By  every  stratagem  of  love, 
To  captivate  her  gentle  heart ; 
But  vjrin  he  found  his  ev'ry  art, 
That  undivided  realm  to  share, 
For  William  rul'd  supremely  there. 

4.     Enraged  and  stung,  his  hair  he  tore, 
A  deep  and  deadly  vengeance  swore. 
And,  to  fulfill  his  dark  intent, 
The  bridal  morn  he  chose  to  vent 
His  smother'd  rage.     He  trac'd  his  way, 
Like  blood-hound  hov'ring  on  his  prey. 
Silent  and  sure.     (")  While  gay  and  light. 
The  happy  bridegroom  climbed  the  hight, 
Borne  on  the  wings  of  bliss — elate, 
And  thoughtless  of  impending  fate. 
He  just  had  gain'd  the  dizzy  place. 
And  felt  the  fresh  breeze  fan  his  face, 
(*'•)  When  pale  and  trembling  in  his  ire, 
With  quiv'ring  lip,  and  eye  of  fire, 
His  foe  sprung  on  the  fatal  spot — 
'    Their  conference  was  brief  and  hot : 

5.     Insult  began,  (  =  )  defiance  fiash'd, — 
A  rash  and  sudden  blow  was  dash'd — 
They  grasp'd,  they  strove,  they  strain'd  for  breath. 
Their  struggle  was  the  strife  of  death. 
Twice  to  the  dizzy  ledge  they  roll'd, 
Clasp'd  in  each  other's  deadly  fold, 
And  twice  they  backward  fell,  and  then  ' 
Renew'd  the  fatal  fight  again  ; 


YOUNa     LADIES'     READEK.  169 

The  aim  of  each  was  now  to  throw, 
His  rival  on  the  rocks  below. 

6.  To  compromise  they  bade  adieu, 
And  nothing  short  of  death  would  do. 
They  spoke  no  word  of  rage  or  hate. 
But,  in  each  fearful  pause  of  fate. 
Panting  for  breath,  pale,  parch'd,  and  spent, 
Their  looks  still  gave  defiance  vent. 

{jp.)  No  sound  was  heard,  no  hand  was  nigh, 
To  hold  an  olive-branch  ;  the  sky. 
As  if  it  smiled  upon  the  fight. 
Was  still,  blue,  beautiful,  and  bright. 

7.  Again  the  frightful  steep  they  eye'd, 
And,  struggling  hard,  again  they  tried 
To  fling  each  other  down.     At  length, 
William's  activity  and  strength. 
Had  work'd  his  now  exhausted  foe, 
Just  to  the  grave  that  yawned  below ; 
One  effort  more,  and  he  was  free, — 
But,  in  this  dire  extremity. 

His  rival  drew  a  deadly  blade, 

One  sure  and  fatal  plunge  he  made, 

The  weapon  pierc'd  young  William's  breast, 

A  groan  and  struggle  marked  the  rest. 

8.  ^  Tlie  victor's  eye  no  longer  flash'd, 

The  cold  drops  from  his  brow  he  dash'd, 
(2f*)  And  slowly  rose ;  his  haggard  look 

Betray'd  his  soul.     He  shudder'd,  shook, 
And  glanc'd  around,  with  timid  eye, 
To  see  no  evidence  was  nigh  ; 
Then  dragged  the  body  to  the  edge, 
And  from  the  steep  and  dizzy  ledge, 


160  SANDERS'    NEW    SERIES. 

He  hurl'd  it  over  rocks  and  all ; 
'Twas  dash'd  to  pieces  from  the  fall. 

9.     And  then  he  silently  withdrew. 
The  bloody  story  no  man  knew : 
The  mangled  limbs  were  found,  and  all 
Lamented  William's  luckless  fall. 
'Twas  thought,  in  clambering  the  hight 
And  turning,  that  his  brain  grew  light : 
Or  that  some  faithless  crag  gave  way, 
And  hurl'd  him  from  the  sight  of  day, 
To  instant  death.     Maria's  grief 
Was  silent,  but  beyond  relief. 

10.  Deep  in  a  gloomy  solitude, 

She  kept  her  maiden  widowhood. 

For  three  sad  years  ;  and,  when,  at  last, 

Her  lonely  boundary  she  parsed, 

To  mingle  in  the  world  again. 

All  friendly  efforts  were  in  vain 

Her  pensive  moments  to  beguile, 

Or  raise  one  melancholy  smile. 

11.  At  last  she  died,  and  time  roll'd  on. 
Till  years  were  counted  twenty-one 
Since  that  sad  bridal-day — the  steep 

Had  long  been  named — "  the  Lover's  Leap." 

Although  the  dismal  story  then 

Was  fading  from  the  Jiiinds  of  men. 

When,  writhing  on  his  bed  of  death, 

The  murd'rer,  with  his  dying  breath. 

In  deepest  agony  reveal'd 

The  fearful  tale  so  long  conceal'd. 

And  then  he  raving — died  !  ^ 

Question. — 1.  "What  pause  is  required  for  a  just  reading  ot  the  laal 
line  ?     See  page  48. 


YOUNG     LADIES'     READER.  161 

EXERCISE    XLVIII. 
THE  WHIRLWIND. 

HISS  jmJST  H.    LEWIS 

1.  The  whirlwind  "would  take  a  walk  one  day," 

(And  a  very  fast  "  walker  is  he,") 
So  bustling  about, 
He  at  length  set  out. 
With  a  step  right  blithe  and  free. 

2.  'Twas  plainly  seen,  as  he  rushed  along, 

He  was  bent  on  frolic  that  day ; 
(")    He  whistled  with  glee. 
Or  sung  merrily. 
For  his  heart  was  glad  and  gay. 

3.  His  path  lay  straight  through  the  dark  green  wood, 

And  away  o'er  the  mountain's  bioad  brow ; 
His  track  you  might  trace, 
In  every  place ; 
For  he  left  his  mark,  I  trow. 

4.  The  aspen  was  first  to  hear  his  voice, 

And  she  shook  through  each  branch  at  the  sound  ^ 
The  timid  young  tree 
Trembled  fearfully, 

As  she  sank  upon  the  ground. 

X.- 

5.  The  hickory  heard  his  sister  fall. 

And  exclaimed,  with  an  ill-natured  sneer, 
**  She  's  nervous  to-day. 
And  doth  fade  away  ; 
Such  weakness  can't  flourish  here." 

6.  As  onward  the  whirlwind  came,  he  heard 

The  rude  scoffer  unfeelingly  jest ; 


162  SANDEES'     NEW     SERIES. 


• 


So  wrenching  about 
His  old  trunk,  so  stout, 
The  strong  one  was  laid  to  rest 

7.  The  pine  saw  the  hickory's  shivered  trunk, 
And  bowed  low  as  the  wind  whistled  past ; 

But  the  courtesy 
Of  the  nodding  tree 
Did  save  her  from  the  blast. 

8.  The  oak,  in  defiance,  tossed  his  head ; 
For  a  veteran  right  bold  was  he  ; 

But  a  single  stroke 
Felled  the  mighty  oak  ; 
Alas  !  for  the  proud  old  tree  ! 

9.  On  !  (<)  onward  still !  and  his  mighty  breath 
Sings  an  anthem  of  glad  triumph  now, 

And  he  laughs  to  see 
Each  old  forest  tree, 
At  his  coming,  meekly  bow. 

10.  The  blooming  rose  heard  the  whirlwind's  voice, 

And  it  filled  her  with  weighty  alarms  ; 
But  he  loved  the  blush 
Of  the  flowering  bush. 
And  bore  her  off*  in  his  arms. 

11.  On  !  (<)  onward  still !  o'er  the  land  he  sweeps. 

With  wreck,  and  ruin,  and  rush,  and  roar, 
Nor  stops  to  look  back 
On  his  dreary  track, 
But  speeds  to  the  spoils  before  ! 

Question. — 1.  How,  according  to  the  notation  marks,  should  9th 
and  lltli  stanzas  be  read? 


YOUNG    LADIES'  READER.  163 


EXERCISE   XLIX. 
KNOW  BEFORE   YOU  SPEAK. 

ROBERT   CHAMBERS. 

1.  Amongst  the  petty  dishonesties  of  common  life,  there  are 
some  more  hurtful,  but,  perhaps,  none  more  paltry,  than  that 
of  pretending  to  know  where  one  is  ignorant.  It  is  a  fault 
mto  which  many  not  ill-meaning  persons  are  drawn,  from  a 
false  shame  which  would  probably  be  checked,  if  any  imme- 
diate evil  consequences  seemed  likely  to  flow  from  it.  Tliey 
dislike  to  appear  at  a  loss,  or  defeated,  or  under  a  short-com- 
ing about  any  thing ;  and  thus  are  tempted  either  to  affect 
knowledge  where  they  have  it  not,  or  in  some  way  to  allow 
it  to  be  supposed,  that  they  are  not  ignorant.  For  example  ; 
some  one  adverts  to  a  fact  in  science  with  which  he  is  fa- 
miliar. 

2.  Perhaps  it  is  brought  forward  for  the  instruction  or  en- 
tertainment of  the  rest, — perhaps  to  show  his  own  knowl- 
edge,— perhaps  only  in  the  fair  course  of  conversation ;  no 
matter  how  it  may  be  in  this  respect — the  point,  at  present,  in 
question,  is  the  want  of  candor  in  the  persons  whom  he  is 
addressing,  in  hearing  as  if  they  understood  that  and  all  the 
related  facts,  putting  on  an  intelligent  look,  assenting  to  the 
proposition  as  if  convinced  of  its  soundness,  and,  perhaps,  even 
hazarding  some  remarks,  that  may  favor  the  supposition  of 
their  being  as  well  informed  on  the  subject  as  the  first  speak- 
er. Or,  perhaps,  a  passage  of  a  classic  or  foreign  author  is 
quoted  —  pedantically  or  otherwise,  it  matters  not;  what  I 
have  to  remark  is  the  unconscientiousness  of  the  rest  of  the 
company,  or  of  particular  members  of  it,  in  letting  the  thing 
pass  as  an  intelligible  part  of  the  discourse,  and  appearing  to 
sanction  its  appositeness,  when,  in  reality,  they  are  either  al- 
together ignorant  of  the  language,  in  which  it  is  written,  or 
have  been  unable  to  follow  the  sense  of  the  passage  with  any 
degree  of  clearness. 

3.  When  any  rational  and  well-meaning  person  feels  him 


# 


•164'  SANDERS'  NEW    SERIES. 

self  tempted  into  such  courses,  let  him  only  considei  how 
absurd  it  is  to  suppose,  that  there  can  be  any  real  disgrace  in 
being  ignorant  of  any  particular  fact  whatever.  Science  is  a 
vast  field, — so  is  learning, — insomuch  that  there  can  be  no 
man  in  existence  acquainted  with  the  whole  of  either.  The 
most  eminent  in  both  scientific  knowledge  and  learning  know 
only  a  part,  and  are  liable  to  be  found  ignorant  of  much. 
This  is  well  known,  and  universally  acknowledged. 

4.  When,  therefore,  any  ordinary  person  is  found  unac- 
quainted with  some  particular  fact,  or  even  with  some  entire 
science,  or  some  whole  language,  there  is  no  reason  why  he 
should  be  deemed  a  generally  ignorant  man.  It  may  be  pre- 
sumed that,  if  he  is  ignorant  of  one  thing,  he  is  conversant 
with  another,  as  is  the  case  with  the  most  eminent  students  ; 
and  thus  he  may  pass  very  well,  though  openly  acknowledg- 
ing that,  on  the  point  in  question,  he  is  blank  as  a  new-born 
babe.  These  considerations  apply  with  particular  force  to 
the  last  of  the  above  classes  of  cases.  The  knowledge  is 
there  of  a  kind  which  no  rational  person  attempts  to  make 
himself  master  of.  It  is  rather  discreditable,  in  some  little 
measure,  to  be  too  well  read  in  such  facts.  And  how  well 
may  a  man  fulfiill  his  duties  in  the  world,  and  how  well  in- 
formed may  he  be  in  what  is  useful  and  serviceable,  although 
he  does  not  know  one  fact  in  the  topography  of  Ceylon  ! 

5.  If  these  considerations  fail,  let  us  only  reflect  for  a  mo- 
ment on  the  disgrace  of  being  detected  in  an  attempt  to  con- 
ceal ignorance.  There  is  a  story  of  Sheridan  having  once  ap- 
parently quoted  a  passage  from  a  Greek  poet  in  the  House 
of  Commons,  when  in  reality  he  only  uttered  a  gabble  resem- 
bling Greek.  An  honorable  gentleman,  who  spoke  after  him, 
fully  assented  to  the  application  of  the  passage  to  the  case  in 
question.  How  ineffably  ridiculous  must  that  man  have  ap- 
peared when  Sheridan  disclosed  the  trick !  This  is  a  dishonor, 
to  which  every  one  is  exposed  who,  in  any  way,  however 
slight  or  negative,  affects  to  appear  knowing  vhere  he  is 
ignorant 


YOUNG    LADIES'  RE  AL  ER.  165 

6.  The  practice  is  also  to  be  regarded  as  \ery  injurious  to 
conversation.  Indeed,  when  one  remembers  how  much  of  the 
time  of  most  social  assemblages  is  occupied  in  the  vaporings 
of  those  who  would  fain  be  thought  knowing,  or  in  worrying 
down  the  assertions  hazarded  by  ignorant  effrontery,  or  in  al- 
lowing those  who  know  nothing,  on  the  point  in  question,  to 
speak  of  something  else  not  called  for,  merely  that  they  may 
seem  to  know  something ;  and  when  he  contrasts  this  unin- 
structive  jabber  with  the  comparatively  well-authenticated 
statements  to  be  found  in  books,  he  might  almost  be  tempt- 
ed to  think  that  a  page  well  read  is  worth  a  whole  evening  of 
ordinary  conversation.  Perhaps  it  would  really  be  so,  if  there 
were  not  in  conversation  a  gratification  to  a  different  part  of 
the  mental  nature,  the  social  feelings,  and,  also,  an  excitement 
which  occasionally  scintillates  new  and  original  ideas,  and 
leads  to  profitable  trains  of  thought  and  inquiry  for  the  future. 

7.  Speaking  vaguely  in  ignorance,  and  then  defending  what 
has  been  said,  is  another  of  the  great  banes  of  conversation;^ 
in  all  except  highly-accomplished  circles ;  and  I  have  oftei 
wished  for  the  presence  of  some  one  who,  having  committed 
a  whole  encyclopaedia,  almanac,  and  ready-reckoner  to  his 
mind,  would  be  able  to  correct  all  wide  and  false  speaking, 
and  thus  check  long  endless  discussions  in  the  outset.  I  once 
witnessed  the  good  effects  of  such  a  monitor,  in  the  course  of 
an  excursion  in  an  Irish  steamer.  Some  young  men  were  de- 
livering their  ideas  about  a  variety  of  matters  in  the  usual 
loose  way,  and  one  of  them,  at  length,  remarked  of  the  pyra 
mids,  that  they  were  so  very  high;  that  he  verily  believed  the 
Wicklow  hills  were  a  joke  to  them. 

8.  "  I  should  think  not,"  said  a  solemn,  quiet-looking  man. 
"  The  pyramids  are  known  to  be  very  much  less  than  the 
Wicklow  mountains." 

"  And  did  you  ever  see  the  py'ramids,  then  ?" 
"  No,  sir." 

"  But  /  have ;  and  I  can  tell  you,  the  Wicklow  hills  are 
nothing  at  all  beside  them," 


166  SANDERS'     NEW     SERIES. 

9.  "  I  am  sorry,  sir,"  resumed  the  solemn  man,  "  that  I 
can  not  join  you  in  that  opinion.  Altliough  I  have  not  seen 
the  pyramids,  I  know  their  measure  by  the  accounts  of  the 
best  authors.  The  largest  is  now  fixed  at  five  hundred  and 
forty-three  feet  high.  But  the  Wicklow  hills  are  generally 
from  two  to  three  thousand  feet.  Besides,  pyramids  are  only 
the  one-third  of  prisms  of  equal  base  and  hight,  and  the 
solidity  is  as  one-third  of  the  area  of  the  base  by  the  hight ; 
•while  the  Wicklow  hills,  being  of  a  swelling  form,  must,  in 
proportion  to  hight,  give  more  solid  contents." 

10.  Here  was  one  assertion  of  loud  ignorance  completely 
put  down.     But  another  was  not  long  wanting. 

"  What  sad  accounts  these  are  for  the  ladies !"  remarked 
one  of  the  young  men  ;  "  I  mean  the  accounts  which  are  pub- 
lished of  the  greater  number  of  women  than  men  in  our 
principal  cities,  as  ascertained  by  the  late  census." 

11.  "  What  can  it  be  owing  to  f  inquired  another. 

"  Why,  I  suppose  it  must  be  owing  to  a  vast  number  of 
m;en  being  taken  away  as  emigrants,  soldiers,  and  sailors, 
and  to  so  many  of  them  getting  killed  in  battle  and  other- 
wise." 

"  I  should  rather  think  there  must  be  more  women  born 
than  men." 

"  Oh,  not  at  all ;  the  numbers  must  be  equal  at  first,  you 
know." 

"I  know  nothing  of  the  kind.  There  can  not  be  so 
very  many  men  carried  away  to  the  colonies  and  the  army. 
It  must  be  owing  to  the.  greater  number  of  girls  bom. 
Why,  nearly  every  family  I  know  has  more  girls  than 
boys." 

12.  "  Well,  for  my  part,  I  can  not  see  how  the  sexes  should 
not  be  equal  at  first." 

"  But  they  can  not  be  equal,  I  tell  you  !" 

Thus  commenced  a  dispute  which  was  kept  up  stoutly  on 
both  sides  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  without  one  particle  of 
real  information  on  either ;  when,  at  length,  one  of  the  con* 


I 


YOUNG     LADIES'  READER.  167 

tending  parties  asked  the  solemn  man,  if  he  did  not  think  his 
view  of  the  question  right. 

13.  "No;  I  don't,"  said  the  solemn  man,  "  neither  of  you  is 
right.  On  the  average  of  European  countries,  a  hundred  and 
six  boys  are  born  for  every  hundred  girls.  If,  therefore,  the 
two  sexes  had  an  equal  chance  of  life,  and  remained  in  equal 
circumstances,  there  should  be  a  preponderance  of  males  to 
that  extent.  To  account  for  the  opposite  being  the  case,  we 
may  chiefly  look  to  the  ascertained  greater  value  of  female 
than  male  life. 

14.  "A  man  at  forty  has  the  expectation  of  twenty-seven 
more  years ;  but  a  woman  of  forty  has  the  expectation  of 
thirty-one  years ;  and  so  on  in  proportion  at  other  ages.  The 
superiority  of  female  to  male  life  is  partly,  no  doubt,  owing 
to  the  comparative  exemption  of  women  from  the  severer 
hardships  of  life,  and  from  warfare  ;  but  it  is  probably  owing, 
in  most  part,  to  the  superior  adaptation  of  their  constitutions 
to  the  existing  general  circumstances  of  society,  as  the  excess 
of  male  mortality  is  greatest  in  infancy  :  the  deaths  of  boys 
in  the  first  year  in  Europe  being  as  about  four  to  three  of 
girls. 

15.  It  was,  of  course,  pedantic  to  have  so  much  out-of-the- 
way  knowledge  at  command ;  but  its  effect  in  the  present 
case,  in  stopping  short  what  would  probably  have  been  an  in- 
cessant wrangle  for  the  remainder  of  the  voyage,  made  me 
truly  thankful,  that  the  solemn  man  had  chanced  to  be  of  our 
company.  I  am  no  advocate  for  all  men  being  crammed 
with  facts  such  as  those  which  this  individual  could  bring 
forth  so  readily ;  but  it  is  surely  no  unreasonable  demand 
that,  when  men  are  totally  ignorant  of  any  subject,  they  will 
refrain  from  disputing  about  it ;  that,  in  short,  they  should 

KNOW  BEFORE  THEY  SPEAK. 

Questions. — 1.  Why  the  rising  inflection  on  pyramid,  and  the  fall- 
ing on  No,  8th  paragraph  ?  See  Rule  I.,  page  26.  2.  What  kind  of 
emphasis  on  I,  same  paragraph  ?     See  Note  vii.,  page  22. 


168  SANDEKS'    NEW     SERIES 


EXERCISE  L. 
THE  ARTIST  SURPRISED. 

J.    EOflO. 

1.  It  may  not  be  known  to  all  the  admirers  of  the  genius 
of  Albrecht  Durez,  that  the  famous  engraver  was  endowed 
with  a  better  half,  so  peevish  in  temper,  that  she  was  the  tor- 
ment not  only  of  his  own  life,  but  also  of  his  pupils  and  do- 
mestics. Some  of  the  former  were  cunning  enough  to  pur- 
chase peace  for  themselves  by  conciliating  the  common  tyrant 
— ^but  woe  to  those  unwilling  or  unable  to  offer  aught  in  pro- 
pitiation. Even  the  wiser  ones  were  spared  only  by  having 
their  offenses  visited  upon  a  scape-goat. 

2.  This  unfortunate  individual  was  Samuel  Duhobret,  a 
disciple  whom  Durez  had  admitted  into  his  school  out  of 
charity.  He  was  employed  in  painting  signs  and  the  coarse 
tapestry  then  used  in  Germany.     He  was  about  forty  years 

age,  little,  ugly,  and  humpbacked  ;  was  the  butt  of  every 
joke  among  his  fellow  disciples,  and  was  picked  out  as  a 
ecial  object  of  dislike  by  Madame  Durez.  But  he  bore  all 
with  patience,  and  ate,  without  complaint,  the  scanty  crusts 
given  him  every  day  for  dinner,  while  his  companions  often 
fared  sumptuously. 

3.  Poor  Samuel  had  not  a  spice  of  envy  or  malice  in  his 
heart.  He  would  at  any  time  have  toiled  half  the  night  to  as- 
sist or  serve  those  who  were  wont  oftenest  to  laugh  at  him,  or 
abuse  him  loudest  for  his  stupidity.  True,  he  had  not  the  quali- 
ties of  social  humor  or  wit,  but  he  was  an  example  of  indefati- 
gable industry.  He  came  to  his  studies  every  morning  at  day- 
break, and  remained  at  work  until  sunset.  Then  he  retired 
into  his  lonely  chamber,  and  wrought  for  his  own  amusement. 

4.  Duhobret  labored  three  years  in  this  way,  giving  him- 
self no  time  for  exercise  or  recreation.  He  said  nothing  to 
a  single  human  being  of  the  paintings  he  produced  in  the  soli- 
tude of  his  cell,  by  the  light  of  his  lamp.  But  his  bodily 
energies  wasted  and  declined  under  incessant  toil.     There 


I 


YOUNG     LADIES'    READER.  169 

were  none  sufficiently  interested  in  the  poor  artist  to  mark 
the  feverish  hue  of  his  wrinkled  cheek,  or  the  increasing  at- 
tenuation of  his  mis-shapen  frame. 

5.  None  observed  that  the  uninviting  pittance  set  aside  for 
his  mid-day  repast,  remained  for  several  days  untouched. 
Samuel  made  his  appearance  regularly  as  ever,  and  bore, 
with  the  same  meekness,  the  gibes  of  his  fellow-pupils,  or  the 
taunts  of  Madame  Durez,  and  worked  with  the  same  untiring 
assiduity,  though  his  hands  would  sometimes  tremble,  and  his 
eyes  become  suffused — a  weakness  probably  owing  to  the  ex- 
cessive use  he  had  made  of  them. 

G.  One  morning  Duhobret  was  missing  at  the  scene  of  his 
daily  labors.  His  absence  created  much  remark,  and  many 
w^ere  the  jokes  passed  upon  the  occasion.  One  surmised  this, 
and  another  that,  as  the  cause  of  the  phenomenon,  and  it  was 
finally  agreed  that  the  poor  fellow  must  have  worked  himself 
into  an  absolute  skeleton,  and  taken  his  final  stand  in  the  gl 
frame  of  some  apothecary,  or  been  blown  away  by  a  puff 
wind,  while  his  door  happened  to  stand  open.  No  one  thougl 
of  going  to  his  lodgings  to  look  after  him  or  his  remains. 

7.  Meanwhile  the  object  of  their  mirth  was  tossing  on  a 
bed  of  sickness.  Disease,  which  had  been  slowly  sapping 
the  foundations  of  his  strength,  burned  in  every  vein ;  his 
eyes  rolled  and  flashed  in  delirium  ;  his  lips,  usually  so  silent, 
muttered  wild  and  incoherent  words.  In  days  of  health,  poor 
Duhobret  had  his  dreams,  as  all  artists,  rich  or  poor,  will 
sometimes  have.  He  had  thought  that  the  fruit  of  many 
years'  labor,  disposed  of  to  advantage,  might  procure  him 
enough  to  live,  in  an  economical  way,  for  the  rest  of  his  life 
He  never  anticipated  fame  or  fortune ;  the  hight  of  his  am 
bition,  or  hope,  was  to  possess  a  tenement  large  enough  to 
shelter  him  from  the  inclemencies  of  the  weather,  with  means 
enough  to  purchase  one  comfortable  meal  per  day. 

8.  Now,  alas  !  however,  even  that  one  hope  had  deserted 
him.  He  thought  himself  dying,  and  thought  it  hard  to  dio 
without  one  US  look  kindly  upt)"n  him;    withotft  the  voriJa 

8 


170  SANDERS'     KEW     SERIES. 

of  comfort  that  might  soothe  his  passage  to  another  world 
He  fancied  his  bed  surrounded  by  fiendish  faces,  grinning  at 
his  sufferings,  and  taunting  him  with  his  inability  to  summon 
power  to  disperse  them.  At  length  the  apparitions  faded 
away,  and  the  patient  sunk  into  an  exhausted  slumber. 

9.  He  awoke  unrefreshed  ;  it  was  the  fifth  day  he  had  lain 
there  neglected.  His  mouth  was  parched;  he  turned  over, 
and  feebly  stretched  out  his  hand  toward  the  earthen  pitcher, 
from  which,  since  the  first  day  of  his  illness,  he  had  quenched 
his  thirst.  Alas !  it  was  empty !  Samuel  lay  for  a  few  mo- 
ments thinking  what  he  should  do.  He  knew  he  must  die  of 
want,  if  he  remained  there  alone ;  but  to  whom  could  he  ap- 
ply for  aid  in  procuring  sustenance  1 

10.  An  idea  seemed,  at  last,  to  strike  him.  He  arose 
slowly,  and  with  difficulty,  from  the  bed,  went  to  the  other 
side  of  the  room,  and  took  up  the  picture  he  had  painted  last. 
He  resolved  to  carry  it  to  the  shop  of  a  salesman,  and  hoped 

obtain  for  it  sufficient  to  furnish  him  with  the  necessaries 
life  for  a  week  longer.  Despair  lent  him  strength  to  walk, 
and  to  carry  his  burden.  On  his  way  he  passed  a  house, 
about  which  there  was  a  crowd.  He  drew  nigh — asked  what 
was  going  on,  and  received  for  an  answer,  that  there  was  to 
be  a  sale  of  many  specimens  of  art,  collected  by  an  amateur 
in  the  course  of  thirty  years.  It  has  often  happened  that  col- 
lections made  with  infinite  pains  by  the  proprietor,  were  sold 
without  mercy  or  discrimination,  after  his  death. 

11.  Something  whispered  the  weary  Duhobret,  that  here 
would  be  the  market  for  his  picture.  It  was  a  long  way  yet 
to  the  house  of  the  picture-dealer,  and  he  made  up  his  mind 
at  once.  He  worked  his  way  through  the  crowd,  dragged 
himself  up  the  steps,  and,  after  many  inquiries,  found  the  auc- 
tioneer. That  personage  was  a  busy,  important  little  man, 
with  a  handful  of  papers ;  he  was  inclined  to  notice  somewhat 
roughly  the  interruption  of  the  lean,  sallow  hunchback,  im 
ploring  as  were  his  gestures  and  language. 

'  12.  "  What  do  you  call  your  picture  f  at  length,  said  he 


YOUNG    LADIES'  READER.  171 

carefully  looking  at  it.  "  It  is  a  view  of  the  Abbey  of  New- 
bourg — with  its  village — and  the  surrounding  landscape,"  re- 
plied the  eager  and  trembling  artist. 

13.  The  auctioneer  again  scanned  it  contemptuously,  and 
asked  what  it  was  worth.  "  Oh,  that  is  what  you  please — 
whatever  it  will  bring,"  answered  Duhobret.  "  Hem  !  it  is 
too  odd  to  please,  I  should  think  ;  I  can  promise  you  no  more 
than  three  thalers." 

14.  Poor  Samuel  sighed  deeply.  He  had  spent  on  that 
piece  the  nights  of  many  months.  But  he  was  starving  now ; 
and  the  pitiful  sum  offered  would  give  bread  for  a  few  days. 
He  nodded  his  head  to  the  auctioneer,  and  retiring,  took  his 
seat  in  a  corner. 

15.  The  sale  began.  After  some  paintings  and  engravings 
had  been  disposed  of,  Samuel's  was  exhibited.  "  Who  bids  at 
three  thalers  ?  Who  bids  V  was  the  cry.  Duhobret  listened 
eagerly,  but  none  answered.  "Will  it  find  a  purchaser?" 
said  he,  despondingly  to  himself.  Still  there  was  a  dead  si- 
lence. He  dared  not  loolf  up  ;  for  it  seemed  to  him  that  all 
the  people  were  laughing  at  the  folly  of  the  artist  who  could 
be  insane  enough  to  offer  so  worthless  a  piece  at  a  public  sale. 
"  What  will  become  of  me  f  was  his  mental  inquiry.  "  That 
work  is  certainly  my  best ;"  and  he  ventured  to  steal  another 
glance.  "  Does  it  not  seem  that  the  wind  actually  stirs  those 
boughs  and  moves  those  leaves !  How  transparent  is  the 
water !  what  life  breathes  in  the  animals  that  quench  their 
thirst  at  that  spring  !  How  that  steeple  shines !  How  beau- 
tiful are  those  clustering  trees  !"  This  was  the  last  expiring 
throb  of  an  artist's  vanity.  The  ominous  silence  continued, 
and  Samuel,  sick  at  heart,  buried  his  face  in  his  hands. 

16.  "  Twenty-one  thalers  !"  murmured  a  faint  voice,  just 
as  the  auctioneer  was  about  to  knock  down  the  picture.  The 
stupefied  painter  gave  a  start  of  joy.  He  raised  Ws  head 
and  looked  to  see  from  whose  lips  those  blessed  words  had 
come.  It  was  the  picture-dealer,  to  whom  he  had  first  thought 
of  applying.  • 


172  SANDERS*  NEW    SERIES. 


17.  "Fifty  thalers,"  cried  a  sonorous  voice.  This  time  a 
tall  man  in  black  was  the  speaker.  There  was  a  silence  of 
hushed  expectation.  "  One  hundred  thalers,"  at  length,  thun- 
dered the  picture-dealer. 

18.  "Three  hundred!"  "  Five  hundred !"  "  One  thousand  !" 
Another  profound  silence,  and  the  crowd  pressed  around  the 
two  opponents,  who  stood  opposite  each  other  with  eager  and 
angry  looks. 

19.  "  Two  thousand  thalers  !"  cried  the  picture-dealer,  and 
glanced  around  him  triumphantly,  when  he  saw  his  adversary 
hesitate.  "Ten  thousand!"  vociferated  the  tall  man,  his  face 
crimson  with  rage,  and  his  hands  clenched'convulsively.  The 
dealer  grew  paler ;  his  frame  shook  with  agitation  ;  he  made 
two  or  three  efforts,  and  at  last  cried  out — "Twenty  thousand !" 

20.  His  tall  opponent  was  not  to  be  vanquished.  He  bid 
forty  thousand.  The  dealer  stopped;  the  other  laughed  a 
low  laugh  of  insolent  triumph,  and  a  murmur  of  admiration 

as  heard  in  the  crowd.  It  was  too  much  for  the  dealer ;  he 
elt  his  peace  at  stake.  "  Fifty  thousand  !"  exclaimed  he  in 
desperation.  It  was  the  tall  man's  turn  to  hesitate.  Again 
the  whole  crowd  were  breathless.  At  length,  tossing  his  arms 
in  defiance,  he  shouted  "  One  hundred  thousand  !"  The  crest- 
fallen  picture-dealer  withdrew  ;  the  tall  man  victoriously  bore 
away  the  prize. 

21.  How  was  it,  meanwhile,  with  Duhobret,  while  this  ex- 
citing scene  was  going  on  1  He  was  hardly  master  of  his 
senses.  He  rubbed  his  eyes  repeatedly,  and  murmured  to 
himself,  "  After  such  a  dream,  my  misery  will  seem  more 
cruel !"  When  the  contest  ceased,  he  rose  up  bewildered, 
aiid  went  about  asking  first  one,  then  another,  the  price  of  the 
picture  just  sold.  It  seemed  that  his  apprehension  could  not 
at  once  be  enlarged  to  so  vast  a  conception. 

22.  The  possessor  was  proceeding  homeward,  when  a  de- 
crepit, lame,  and  humpbacked  invalid  tottering  along  by  the 
aid  of  a  stick,  presented  himself  before  him.  He  threw  him 
a  piece  of  money,  and  waved  his  hand  as  dispensing  with  his 


YOUNG     LADIES'    EEADER. 

thanks.  "  May  it  please  your  honor,"  said  the  supposed  beg- 
gar, "  I  am  the  painter  of  that  picture  !"  and  he  again  rubbed 
Jiis  eyes. 

23.  The  tall  man  was  Count  Dunkelsback,  one  of  the  rich- 
est noblemen  in  Germany.  He  stopped,  took  out  his  pocket- 
book,  tore  out  a  leaf,  and  wrote  on  it  a  few  lines.  "  Take  it, 
friend,"  said  he ;  "  it  is  a  check  for  your  money.     Adieu." 

24.  Duhobret  finally  persuaded  himself  that  it  was  not  a 
dream.  He  became  the  master  of  a  castle,  sold  it,  and  re- 
solved to  live  luxuriously  for  the  rest  of  his  life,  and  to  cul- 
tivate painting  as  a  pastime.  But,  alas,  for  the  vanity  of  hu- 
man expectation !  He  had  borne  privation  and  toil ;  pros- 
perity was  too  much  for  him,  as  was  proved  soon  after,  when 
an  indigestion  carried  him  off.  His  picture  remained  long  in 
the  cabinet  of  Count  Dunkelsback,  and  afterwards  passed 
into  the  possession  of  the  king  of  Bavaria. 


EXERCISE   LI. 
MORTALITY. 


KSOX. 

1.  Oh !  why  should  the  spirit  of  mortal  be  proud  1 
•  {")  Like  a  fast-flitting  meteor,  a  fast-flying  cloud, 

A  flash  of  the  lightning,  a  break  of  the  wave, 
(>)  He  passes  from  life  to  his  rest  in  the  grave  ! 

2.  The  leaves  of  the  oak  and  the  willow  shall  fade, 
Be  scattered  around,  and  together  be  laid  ; 

And  the  young,  and  the  old,  and  the  low,  and  the  high, 
Shall  molder  to  dust,  and  together  shall  lie. 

3.  The  child  that  a  mother  attended  and  loved, 
The  mother  that  infant's  affection  that  proved, 
Tlie  husband  that  mother  and  infant  that  blest — 
Each,  all  are  away  to  their  dwelling  of  rest. 


174  SANDERS'  NEW    SERIES. 

4.  The  maid  on  whose  cheek,  on  whose  brow,  in  whose  eye 
Shone  beauty  and  pleasure,  her  triumphs  are  by  ; 

And  the  memory  of  those  that  beloved  her  and  prais'd, 
Are  alike  from  the  minds  of  the  living  erased. 

5.  The  hand  of  the  king,  that  the  scepter  hath  borne, 
The  brow  of  the  priest,  that  the  miter  hath  worn, 
The  eye  of  the  sage,  and  the  heart  of  the  brave, 
Are  hidden  and  lost  in  the  depths  of  the  grave. 

6.  The  peasant  whose  lot  was  to  sow  and  to  reap, 

The  herdsman  who  climb'd  with  his  goats  to  the  steep, 
The  beggar  that  wander'd  in  search  of  his  bread, 
Have  faded  away  like  the  grass  that  we  tread. 

7.  The  saint  that  enjoy 'd  the  communion  of  Heaven, 
The  sinner  that  dared  to  remain  unforgiven. 

The  wise  and  the  foolish,  the  guilty  and  just, 
Have  quietly  mingled  their  bones  in  the  dust. 

8.  So  the  multitude  goes,  like  the  flower  and  the  weed, 
That  wither  away  to  let  others  succeed  ; 

So  the  multitude  comes — even  there  we  behold. 
To  repeat  every  tale  that  hath  often  been  told. 

9.  For  we  are  the  same  things  that  our  fathers  have  been, 
"We  see  the  same  sights  that  our  fathers  have  seen  ; 
We  drink  the  same  streams,  and  we  feel  the  same  sun, 

•  And  we  run  the  same  course  that  our  fathers  have  run. 

10.  The  thoughts  we  are  thinking,  our  fathers  would  think  ; 
From  the  death  we  are  shrinking  from,  they  too  would 

shrink ; 
The  life  we  are  clinging  to,  they  too  would  cling ; 
But  it  speeds  from  the  earth,  like  a  bird  on  the  wing. 

11.  They  loved — ^but  their  story  we  cannot  unfold  ; 

(  ^•)  They  scorned — ^but  the  heart  of  the  haughty  is  cold ; 


YOUNG     LADIES'     READER.  175 

They  grieved — but  no  wail  from  their  slumbers  may  comej 
They  joy'd — but  the  voice  of  their  gladness  is  dumb. 

12.  They  died !  (pi.)  aye,  they  died ;  and  we  things  that  are  now, 
Who  walk  on  the  turf  that  lies  over  their  brow, 

Who  make  in  their  dwellings  a  transient  abode, 
Meet  the  changes  they  met  on  their  pilgrimage  road. 

13.  Yea,  hope  and  despondence,  and  pleasure  and  pain. 
Are  mingled  together  like  sunshine  and  rain ; 

And  the  smile  and  the  tear,  and  the  song  and  the  dirge. 
Still  follow  each  other  like  surge  upon  surge. 

14.  'Tis  the  twink  of  an  eye,  'tis  the  draught  of  a  breath, 
From  the  blossom  of  health  to  the  paleness  of  death, 
From  the  gilded  saloon  to  the  bier  and  the  shroud ; 
Oh,  why  should  the  spirit  of  mortal  be  proud  1 

Questions. — 1.  How,  according  to  the  notation,  should  the  first 
stanza  be  read  ?  2.  How  the  eleventh  and  twelfth  stanzas  ?  3.  "What 
direction  is  given  for  securing  the  distinct  articulation  of  such  words 
as  fast-flitting,  fast-flying,  second  line,  first  stanza  I  See  Remark, 
page  15. 


EXERCISE    LII. 

THE  AMERICAN  FOREST  GIRL. 

MRS.    HEMAN9. 

Wildly  and  mournfully  the  Indian  drum 

On  the  deep  hush  of  moonlit  forests  broke  ; 
"  Sing  us  a  death-song,  for  thine  hour  is  come ;" 

So  the  red  warriors  to  their  captive  spoke.  • 

Still,  and  amidst  those  dusky  forms  alone, 

A  youth — a  fair-haired  youth  of  England  stood, 
Like  a  king's  son  ;  though  from  his  cheek  had  flown 

The  mantling  crimson  of  the  island  blood, 
And  his  pressed  lips  looked  marble. 


176  SANDERS'    NEW    SERIES. 

2.  Fiercely  bright, 
And  high  around  him,  blazed  the  hrcs  of  night, 
Rocking  beneath  the  cedars  to  and  fro. 

As  the  wind  passed,  and,  with  a  fitful  glow, 
Lighting  the  victim's  face.     But  who  could  tell 
Of  what  within  his  secret  heart  befell, 
Known  but  to  Heaven  that  hour  ? 

3.  Perchance  a  thought 
Of  his  far  home  then  so  intensely  wrought, 
That  his  full  image,  pictured  to  his  eye, 

On  the  dark  ground  of  mortal  agony, 
Rose  clear  as  day  !  and  he  might  see  the  baud 
Of  his  young  sisters,  wandering  hand  in  hand, 
Where  the  laburnums  drooped  ;  or  haply  binding 
The  jasmine,  up  the  door's  low  pillars  winding ; 
Or,  as  day  closed  upon  their  gentle  mirth, 
Gathering,  with  braided  hair,  around  the  hearth 
Where  sat  their  mother  ;  and  that  mother's  face, 
Its  grave  sweet  smile  yet  wearing  in  the  place 
.    Where  so  it  ever  smiled  ! 

4.  Perchance  the  prayer 
Learned  at  her  knee  came  back  on  his  despair ; 
The  blessing  from  her  voice,  the  very  tone 

Of  her  "  Good-night !"  might  breathe  from  boyhood  gono 
He  started  and  looked  up  ;  thick  cypress  boughs. 

Full  of  strange  sound,  waved  o'er  him,  darkly  red 
In  the  broad  stormy  fire-light ;  savage  brows. 

With  tall  plumes  crested,  and  wild  hues  o'erspread, 
Girt  him  like  feverish  phantoms ;  and  pale  stars 
•Looked  through  the  branches  as  through  dungeon  bars, 
Shedding  no  hope.     He  knew,  he  felt  his  doom  ; 
WOh,  what  a  tale  to  shadow  with  its  gloom 

That  happy  hail  in  England  !     Idle  fear,!  .^ 

Would  the  winds  tell  ft  ? — -who  might  dream  or  hear  ' 
The  secrets  of  the  forests  ? 


YOUNG     LADIES*    KEADER.  177 

5.  if)  To  the  stake 
Tliey  bound  him  ;  and  the  proud  young  soldier  strove 

His  father's  spirit  in  his  breast  to  wake, 
Trusting  to  die  in  silence  !     He,  the  love 

Of  many  hearts  ! — the  fondly-reared — the  fair, 

Gladdening  all  eyes  to  see  !     And  fettered  there, 

He  stood  beside  his  death-pyre,  and  the  brand 

Flamed  up  to  light  it,  in  the  chieftain's  hand. 

G.  He  thought  upon  his  God.     (/».)  Hush !  hark !  a  cry 
Breaks  on  the  stern  and  dread  solemnity ; 
A  step  hath  pierced  the  ring  !     Who  dares  intrude 
On  the  dark  hunters  in  their  vengeful  mood? 
A  girl — a  young  slight  girl — a  fawn-like  child 
Of  green  savannas  and  the  leafy  wild, 
Springing,  unmarked  till  then,  as  some  lone  flower, 
Happy  because  the  sunshine  is  its  dower ; 
Yet  one  that  knew  how  early  tears  are  shed. 
For  hers  had  mourned  a  playmate  brother  dead. 

7.  She  had  sat  gazing  on  the  victim  long. 
Until  the  pity  of  her  soul  grew  strong ; 

And,  by  its  passion's  deepening  fervor  swayed, 

Even  to  the  stake  she  rushed,  and  gently  laid 

His  bright  head  on  her  bosom,  and  around 

His  form  her  slender  arms,  to  shield  it,  wound 

Like  close  Liannes ;  then  raised  her  glittering  eye 

And  clear-toned  voice,  that  said,  (j^)  "  He  shall  not  die .'" 

8.  "  He  shall  not  die  !"  the  gloomy  forest  thrilled 

To  that  sweet  sound.     A  sudden  wonder  fell  ^ 

On  the  fierce  throng  ;  and  heart  and  hand  were  stilled,  *|J 

Struck  down,  as  by  the  whisper  of  a  spell. 

9.  They  gazed,  their  dark  souls  bowed  before  the  maid, 
She  of  the  dancing  step  in  wood  and  glade  ! 

And,  as  her  cheek  flushed  through  its  olive  hue, 
As  her  black  tresses  to  th»  night-wind  flew, 
8* 


178  SANDERS'    NEW    SERIES. 

Something  o'ermastered  them  from  that  young  mien, 
Something  of  Heaven,  in  silence  felt  and  seen  ; 
And,  seeming  to  their  child-like  faith  a  token. 
That  the  Great  Spirit  by  her  voice  had  spoken. 

(a.)  They  loosed  the  bonds  that  held  their  captive's  breath ; 
From  his  pale  lips  they  took  the  cup  of  death  ; 
They  quenched  the  brand  beneath  the  cypress-tree  ; 

iff.)"  Away  !"  they  cried,  "  young  stranger,  thou  art  free  !" 

Questions. — 1.  Why  the  falling  inflection  on /ear,  4th  stanza?  See 
Rule  VIII.,  page  31.  2.  What  rule  for  the  rising  inflection  on  it,  4th 
stanza  ?     3.  What,  for  the  falling  on  forests,  4th  stanza  ? 


EXERCISE    LIII 


HONOR  TO   WOMEN. 

FROM   Tnc:   GERMAN   OF   SCHILLEB. 

1.  Honor  to  women  !  entwining  and  braiding. 
Life's  garland  with  roses  forever  unfading, 

In  the  vail  of  the  graces  all  modestly  kneeling. 
Love's  band  with  sweet  spells  have  they  wreathed,  have 

they  blessed ; 
And,  tending  with  hands  ever  pure,  have  caressed 

The  flame  of  each  holy,  each  beautiful  feeling. 

2.  Ever  truth's  bright  bounds  out-ranges 

Man,  and  his  wild  spirit  strives, 
Ever  with  each  thought  that  changes 

As  the  storm  of  passion  drives ; 
\^  With  heart  appeased,  contented  never, 

Grasps  he  at  the  future's  gleam. 
Beyond  the  stars  pursuing  ever 
The  restless  phantom  of  his  dream. 

3.  But  the  glances  of  women,  enchantingly  glowing, 
Their  light  woos  the  fugitive  back,  ever  throwing 


YOUNG     LADIES'    READER.  179 


A  link  round  the  present,  that  binds  like  a  spell ; 
In  the  neat  cottage-home  of  the  mother  presiding, 
All  graces,  all  gentleness,  round  them  abiding, 

As  nature's  true  daughters,  how  sweetly  they  dwell ! 

4.  (")  Man  is  ever  warring,  rushing 

Onward  through  life's  stormy  way. 
Wild  his  fervor,  fierce  and  crushing, 

Knows  he  neither  rest  nor  stay  ; 
Creating,  slaying — day  by  day 

Urged  by  passion's  fury  brood, 
A  hydra  band,  whose  heads,  for  aye 

Fall,  to  be  for  aye  renewed. 

5.  But  women,  to  sweet  silent  praises  resigning 
Such  hopes  as  affection  is  ever  enshrining. 

Pluck  the  moment's  brief  flowers  as  they  wander  along, 
More  free  in  their  limited  range,  richer  ever 
Than  man,  proudly  soaring  with  fruitless  endeavor 

Through  the  infinite  circles  of  science  and  song. 

6.  Strong,  and  proud,  and  self-commending, 

Man's  cold  heart  doth  never  move 
To  a  gentler  spirit  bending. 

To  the  godlike  power  of  love ; 
Knows  not  soul-exchange  so  tender, 

Tears,  by  others'  tears  confessed  ; 
Life's  dark  combats  steel,  and  render 

Harder  his  obdurate  breast ! 

7.  Oh  !  wakened  like  harp,  and  as  gently  resembling 
Its  murmuring  chords,  to  the  night-breezes  trembling. 

Breathes  woman's  fond  soul,  and  as  feelingly  too  ; 
Touched  lightly,  touched  deeply,  oh,  ever  she  borrows 
Grief  itself  from  the  image  of  grief,  and  her  sorrows 

Ever  gem  her  soft  eyes  with  Heaven's  holiest  dew. 


180  SAKDERS'    NEW    SERIES. 

8.  Man,  of  power  despotic  lord, 

In  power  dotli  insolently  trust ; 
Scythia  argues  with  the  sword, 
• '  Persia,  crouching^  bites  the  dust. 

In  their  fury-fights  engaging, 

Combat  spoilers,  wild  and  dread, 
Strife,  and  war,  and  havoc  raging 

Where  the  charities  have  fled. 

9.  But  gently  entreating,  and  sweetly  beguiling, 
Woman  reigns  while  the  graces  around  her  arc  smiling. 

Calming  down  the  fierce  discord  of  hatred  and  pride ; 
Teaching  all  whom  the  strife  of  wild  passions  would  sever, 
To  unite  in  one  bond,  and  with  her,  and  forever. 

All  hopes,  each  emotion,  they  else  had  denied. 


EXERCISE    LIV 


THE   PEOPLE  ALWAYS   CONQUER. 

EDWARD    EVERETT. 

1.  It  was  one  of  those  great  days,  one  of  those  elemental 
occasions  in  the  world's  affairs,  when  the  people  rise  and  act 
for  themselves.  Some  organization  and  preparation  had  been 
made,  but,  from  the  nature  of  the  case,  with  scarce  any  effect 
on  the  events  of  that  day.  It  may  be  doubted  whether  there 
was  Tin  efficient  order  given  the  whole  day  to  any  body  of 
men  as  large  as  a  regiment. 

2.  It  was  the  people,  in  their  first  capacity,  as  citizens  and 
as  freemen,  starting  from  their  beds  at  midnight,  from  their 
firesides  and  from  their  fields,  to  take  their  own  cause  into 
their  own  hands.  Such  a  spectacle  is  the  hight  of  the  r.icral 
sublime,  when  the  want  of  every  thing  is  fully  made  up  by 
the  spirit  of  the  cause,  and  the  soul  within  stands  in  place  of 
discipline,  organization,  resources. 

3.  In  the  prodigious  efforts  of  a  veteran  army,  beneath  the 


YOUNG     LADIES'    READER.  181 


(\ii7.zVms  fsplencior  of  their  array,  there  is  something  revolting 
to  the  i'cflectivG  mind.  The  ranks  are  filled  with  the  desper- 
ate, the  mercenary,  the  depraved  ;  an  iron  slavery,  by  the 
name  of  subordination,  merges  the  free  will  of  one  hundred 
thousand  men  in  the  miqualified  despotism  of  one;  the  hu- 
manity, mercy,  and  remorse,  which  scarce  ever  desert  the 
individual  bosom,  are  sounds  without  a  meaning  to  that  fear- 
ful, ravenous,  irrational  monster  of  prey,  a  mercenary  army. 

4.  It  is  hard  to  say,  who  are  most  to  be  commiserated,  the 
wretched  people,  on  whom  it  is  let  loose,  or  the  still  more 
wretched  people,  whose  substance  has  been  sucked  out,  to 
nourish  it  into  strength  and  fury.  But  in  the  efforts  of  the 
people — of  the  people  struggling  for  their  rights,  moving  not 
in  organized,  disciplined  masses,  but  in  their  spontaneous  ac- 
tion, man  for  man,  and  heart  for  heart — there  is  something 
glorious.  They  can  then  move  forward  without  orders,  act 
together  without  combination,  and  brave  the  flaming  lines  of 
battle,  without  entrenchments  to  cover,  or  walls  to  shield 
them. 

5.  No  dissolute  camp  has  worn  off  from  the  feelings  of  the 
youthful  soldier  the  freshness  of  that  home,  where  his  mother 
and  his  sisters  sit  waiting,  with  tearful  eyes  and  aching  hearts, 
to  hear  good  news  from  the  wars ;  no  long  service  in  the 
ranks  of  a  conqueror  has  turned  the  veteran's  heart  into 
marble ;  their  valor  springs  not  from  recklessness,  from 
habit,  from  indifference  to  the  preservation  of  a  life,  knit  by 
no  pledges  to  the  life  of  others,  but  in  the  strength  and  spirit 
of  the  cause  alone,  they  act,  they  contend,  they  bleed. 

6.  In  this,  they  conquer.  The  people  always  conquer. 
They  always  must  conquer.  Armies  may  be  defeated  ;  kings 
m\v  be  overthrown,  and  new  dynasties  imposed  by  foreign 
arms  on  an  ignorant  and  slavish  race,  that  care  not  in  what 
language  the  covenant  of  their  subjection  runs,  nor  in  whose 
name  the  deed  of  their  barter  and  sale  is  made  out.  But 
the  people  never  invade  ;  and,  when  they  rise  against  the  in- 
vader, are  never  subdued. 


182  SANDERS'    NEW    SERIES. 

7.  If  they  are  driven  from  the  plains,  they  fly  to  the  moun- 
tains. Steep  rocks  and  everlasting  hills  are  their  castles ;  the 
tangled,  pathless  thicket  their  palisades,  and  nature — God,  is 
their  ally.  Now  he  overwhelms  the  hosts  of  their  enemies 
beneath  his  drifting  mountains  of  sand ;  now  he  buries  them 
beneath  a  falling  atmosphere  of  polar  snows ;  he  lets  loose 
his  tempests  on  their  fleets  ;  he  puts  a  folly  into  their  coun- 
sels, a  madness  into  the  hearts  of  their  leaders  ;  and  never 
gave,  and  never  will  give,  a  full  and  final  triumph  over  a  vir- 
tuous, gallant  people,  resolved  to  be  free. 


EXERCISE     LV. 


THE  END  OF  FEMALE  EDUCATION. 

HANNAH   MORE. 

1.  To  woman,  therefore,  whatever  be  her  rank,  I  would 
recommend  a  predominance  of  those  more  sober  studies, 
which,  not  having  display  for  their  object,  may  make  her  wise 
without  vanity,  happy  without  witnesses,  and  content  without 
panegyrists ;  the  exercise  of  which  may  not  bring  celebrity, 
but  will  improve  usefulness.  She  should  pursue  every  kind 
of  study  which  will  teach  her  to  elicit  truth ;  which  will  lead 
her  to  be  intent  upon  realities,  will  give  precision  to  her  ideas, 
will  make  an  exact  mind. 

2.  She  should  cultivate  every  study  which,  instead  of  stimu- 
lating her  sensibility,  will  chastise  it ;  which  will  neither  cre- 
ate an  excessive  nor  a  false  refinement ;  which  will  give  her 
definite  notions ;  will  bring  the  imagination  under  dominion ; 
will  lead  her  to  think,  to  compare,  to  combine,  to  methodize ; 
which  will  confer  such  a  power  of  discrimination,  that  her 
judgment  shall  learn  to  reject  what  is  dazzling,  if  it  be  not 
solid  ;  and  to  prefer,  not  what  is  striking,  or  bright,  or  new, 
but  what  is  just.  That  kind  of  knowledge  which  is  rather 
fitted  for  home  consumption  than  foreign  exportation,  is  pecu 
liarly  adapted  to  v^oman. 


YOU  KG     LADIES'     READER.  183 


3.  Tl^re  have  not  been  wanting  ill-judging  females,  who 
have  affected  to  establish  an  unnatural  separation  between 
talents  and  usefulness,  instead  of  bearing  in  mind  that  talents 
are  the  great  appointed  instruments  of  usefulness  ;  who  have 
acted  as  if  knowledge  were  to  confer  on  woman  a  kind 
of  fantastic  sovereignty,  which  should  exonerate  her  from 
the  discharge  of  female  duties ;  whereas,  it  is  only  meant 
the  more  eminently  to  qualify  her  for  the  performance  of 
them. 

4.  A  woman  of  real  sense  will  never  forget  that,  while  the 
greater  part  of  her  proper  duties  are  such  as  the  most  moder- 
ately gifted  may  fulfill  with  credit — since  Providence  never 
makes  that  to  be  very  difficult  which  is  generally  necessary  ; 

yet  that  the  most  highly  endowed  are  equally  bound  to  fulfill 
them;  and  let  her  remember  that  the  humblest  of  these 
offices,  performed  on  Christian  principles,  are  wholesome  for 
the  minds,  even  of  the  most  enlightened,  as  they  tend  to  the 
casting  down  of  those  "  high  imaginations  "  which  women  of 
genius  are  too  mu(W  tempted  to  indulge. 

5.  For  instance,  ladies  whose  natural  vanity  has  been  ag- 
gravated by  a  false  education,  may  look  down  on  economy  as 
a  vulgar  attainment,  unworthy  of  the  attention  of  a  highly 
cultivated  intellect ;  but  this  is  the  false  estimate  of  a  shallow 
mind.  Economy,  such  as  a  woman  of  fortune  is  called  on  to 
practice,  is  not  merely  the  petty  detail  of  small  daily  expenses, 
the  shabby  curtailments  and  stinted  parsimony  of  a  little 
mind,  operating  on  little  concerns ;  but  it  is  the  exercise  of  a 
sound  judgment  exerted  in  the  comprehensive  outline  of  or- 
der, of  arrangement,  of  distribution ;  of  regulations,  by  which 
alone  well-governed  societies,  great  and  small,  subsist.  She 
who  has  the  best-regulated  mind,  will,  other  things  being 
equal,  have  the  best-regulated  family. 

6.  As,  in  the  superintendence  of  the  universe,  wisdom  is  seen 
in  its  effects;  and  as,  in  the  visible  works  of  Providence,  that 
which  goes  on  with  such  beautiful  regularity,  is  the  result  not 
of  chance,  but  of  design ;  so  that  management  which  seems 


184  .    SANDERS'    NEW    SERIES. 


the  most  easy,  is  commonly  the  consequence  of  the  "best-con- 
certed plan  ;  and  a  well-concerted  plan  is  seldom  tbc'lfspring 
of  f^n  ordinary  mind.  A  sound  economy  is  a  sound  under- 
standing brought  into  action  ;  it  is  calculation  realized ;  it  is 
the  doctrine  of  proportion  reduced  to  practice  ;  it  is  foreseeing 
consequences,  and  guarding  against  them  ;  it  is  expecting  con- 
tingencies, and  being  prepared  for  them. 

7.  The  truth  is,  women  who  are  so  puffed  up  with  the  con- 
ceit of  talents,  as  to  neglect  the  plain  duties  of  life,  will  not 
frequently  be  found  to  be  wotnen  of  the  best  abilities.  And 
here  may  the  author  be  allowed  the  gratification  of  observing, 
that  those  women  of  real  genius  and  extensive  knowledge, 
whose  friendship  has  conferred  honor  and  happiness  on  her 
own  life,  have  been,  in  general,  eminent  for  economy  and  the 
practice  of  domestic  virtues ;  and  have  risen  superior  to  the 
poor  affectation  of  neglecting  the  duties  and  despising  the 
knowledge  of  common  life,  with  which  literary  women  have 
been  frequently,  and  not  always  unjustly,  accused. 


EXERCISE    LVI. 
LOVE  THE  AGED. 


L.  VIRGINIA  SMim 

1.  I  love  the  old — to  lean  beside 

The  antique  easy -chair, 
And  pass  my  fingers  softly  o'er 

A  wreath  of  silvered  hair. 
To  press  my  glowing  lips  upon 

The  furrowed  brow,  and  gaze 
Within  the  sunken  eye,  where  dwells 

The  "  light  of  other  days." 

2.  To  fold  the  pale  and  feeble  hand 

That  on  my  youthful  head 


YOUNG     LADIES'     READER.  185 

Has  lain  so  tenderly,  the  while 

The  evening  prayer  was  said  ; 
To  nestle  down  close  Lo  the  heart, 

And  marvel  how  it  held 
Such  tomes  of  legendary  lore, 

The  chronicles  of  eld. 

3.  O  Youth  !  thou  hast  so  much  of  joy, 

So  much  of  life  and  love, 
So  many  hopes — Age  has  but  one — 

The  hope  of  bliss  above. 
Then  turn  awhile  from  these  away  .  *  ' 

To  cheer  the  old,  and  bless 
The  wasted  heart-spring  with  a  stream 

Of  gushing  tenderness. 

4.  Thou  treadest  now  a  path  of  bloom. 

And  thine  exulting  soul 
Springs  proudly  on,  as  though  it  mocked 

At  Time's  unfelt  control. 
But  they  have  marched  a  weary  way, 

Upon  a  thorny  road  : 
Then  soothe  the  toil-worn  spirits,  ere 

They  pass  away  to  God. 

5.  Yes,  love  the  aged — bow  before 

The  venerable  form, 
So  soon  to  seek  beyond  the  sky 

A  shelter  from  the  storm. 
Aye,  love  them  ;  let  thy  silent  heart, 

A^'ith  reverence  untold, 
As  pilgrims  very  near  to  Heaven^ 

Regard  and  love  the  old. 

QuESTiox. — 1.    What  kind  of  emphasis  on  many  and  07ie,   third 
»tanza  ? 


186  SANDERS'     NEW     SERIES, 


EXERCISE    LVII. 
A  LUCID   INTERVAL. 

UTEBAEY  MAGNET. 

1.  O  !  light  is  pleasant  to  the  eye, 

And  health  comes  rustling  on  the  gale, 
Clouds  are  careering  through  the  sky. 

Whose  shadows  mock  them  down  the  dale ; 
Nature  as  fresh  and  fragrant  seems 
As  I  have  met  her  in  my  dreams. 

2.  ,  For  I  have  been  a  prisoner  long 

In  gloom  and  loneliness  of  mind, 
Deaf  to  the  melody  of  song, 

To  every  form  of  beauty  blind ; 
Nor  morning  dew,  nor  evening  balm, 
Might  cool  my  check,  my  bosom  calm. 

3.  But  now  the  blood,  the  blood  returns, 

(=)  With  rapturous  pulses  through  my  veins ; 
My  heart,  new-bom  within  me,  burns, 

My  limbs  break  loose,  they  cast  their  chains ; 
Rekindled  at  the  sun,  my  sight 
Tracks  to  a  point  the  eagle's  flight. 

4.  I  long  to  climb  those  old  gray  rocks, 

Glide  with  yon  river  to  the  deep ; 
Range  the  green  hills  with  herds  and  flocks, 

Free  as  the  roe-buck,  run  and  leap  ; 
Then  mount  the  lark's  victorious  wing, 
And  from  the  depths  of  ether  sing. 

.5.      O  Earth  !  in  maiden  innocence, 

Too  early  fled  thy  golden  tinio ; 
O  Earth  !  Earth  !  Earth  !  for  man's  ofleusej 
Do«m'd  to  dishonor  in  thy  prime  ; 


YOUNG    LADIES'  EEADER  187 

Of  how  much  glory  then  bereft ! 
Yet  what  a  world  of  bliss  was  left ! 

6.  The  thorn,  harsh  emblem  of  the  curse, 

Puts  forth  a  paradise  of  flowers  ; 
Labor,  man's  punishment,  is  nurse 

To  halcyon  joys  at  sunset  hours  : 
Plague,  famine,  earthquake,  want,  disease, 
Give  birth  to  holiest  charities. 

7.  And  Death  himself,  with  all  the  woes 

That  hasten,  yet  prolong,  his  stroke,—- 
Death  brings  with  every  pang  repose. 

With  every  sigh  he  solves  a  yoke ; 
Yes,  his  cold  sweats  and  moaning  strife 
Wring  out  the  bitterness  of  life. 

8.  Life,  life,  with  all  its  burdens  dear ! 

Friendship  is  sweet — Love  sweeter  still 
Who  would  forego  a  smile,  a  tear. 

One  generous  hope,  one  chastening  ill  1 
Home,  kindred,  country  ! — these  are  ties 
Might  keep  an  angel  from  the  skies. 

9.  But  these  have  angels  never  known, 

Unvex'd  felicity  their  lot : 
Their  sea  of  glass  before  the  throne. 

Storm,  lightning,  shipwreck,  visit  not : 
Our  tides,  beneath  the  changing  moon, 
Are  soon  appeased — are  troubled  soon. 

10.      Well,  I  will  bear  what  all  have  borne, 

Live  my  few  years,  and  fill  my  place ; 
O'er  old  and  young  affections  mourn, 
Rent  one  by  one  from  my  embrace, 


188  SANDERS'  NEW    SERIES. 

Till  suffering  ends,  and  I  have  done 
With  all  delights  beneath  the  sun. 

11.      Whence  came  I  ? — Memory  can  not  say  ; 

What  am  I  ? — Knowledge  will  not  show  ; 
Bound  whither  1 — Ah  !  away,  away, 

Far  as  eternity  can  go  : — 
Thy  love  to  win,  thy  wrath  to  flee, 
O  God  !  thyself  my  helper  be. 

QuESTioxs. — 1.  What  rule  for  the  falling  inflection  on  earth,  fifth 
stanza  ?  2.  What  rule  for  the  inflections  as  marked  in  the  eleventh 
stanza  ? 


EXERCISE  LVIII. 


1.  RES-TO-nA'-TioN,  in  English  History,  is  applied  to  the  act  of  re- 
establishing the  monarchical  form  of  government,  after  the  close  of 
the  interval  from  Jan.  30,  1649,  when  Charles  I.  was  beheaded,  to 
May  29th,  16G0,  when  Charles  II.  acceded  to  the  throne 

2.  Per-i-cles,  a  celebrated  Athenian  orator,  warrior,  and  statesman, 
born  about  500  B.  C.  For  forty  years  he  was  the  leading  spirit  in 
Athens,  which  city,  in  many  ways,  he  embellished  and  ma«le  glorious. 

3.  Au-Gus'-Tus,  a  Roman  emperor,  born  B.  C.  63,  and  died  A.  D.  14. 
He  gave  great  encouragement  to  the  cultivation  of  literature  and 
the  arts. 

4.  Leo  X.  became  Pope  of  Rome  in  1513,  in  the  38th  year  of  his 
age     He  was  a  munificent  patron  of  learning  and  the  arts. 

5.  Louis  XIV.,  of  France,  was  born  Sept.  5th,  1638.  His  reign  was 
long,  and  adorned  with  men  of  celebrity  in  almost  every  walk  of 
life.     He  gave  great  encouragement  to  the  arts  and  sciences. 

THE  REIGN  OF  ELIZABETH. 

FRANCIS   JEFFRET. 

1.  There  never  was,  any  where,  any  thing  like  the  sixty  or 
seventy  years  that  elapsed  from  the  middle  of  Elizabeth's 
reign,  to  the  period  of  the  Restoration.'  In  point  of  real 
force  and  originality  of  genius,  neither  the  age  of  Pericles,' 


YOUNG     LADIES*    EEADEE.  189 

nor  the  age  of  x\ugustus,'  nor  the  times  of  Leo  X.,*  nor  of 
Louis  XIV.,*  can  come  at  all  into  comparison. 

2.  For,  in  that  short  period,  we  shall  find  the  names  of  al- 
most all  the  very  great  men  that  this  nation  has  ever  pro- 
duced— the  names  of  Shakspeare,  and  Bacon,  and  Spenser, 
and  Sydney— and  Hooker,  and  Taylor,  and  Barrow,  and  Ra 
leigh — and  Napier,  and  Milton,  and  Cudworth,  and  Hobbes, 
and  many  others ;  men,  all  of  them,  not  merely  of  great 
talents  and  accomplishments,  but  of  vast  compass  and  reach 
of  understanding,  and  of  minds  truly  creative  and  original ; 
not  perfecting  art  by  the  delicacy  of  their  taste,  or  digesting 
knowledge  by  the  justness  of  their  reasonings,  but  making 
vast  and  substantial  additions  to  the  materials,  upon  which 
taste  and  reason  must  hereafter  be  employed,  and  enlarging, 
to  an  incredible  and  unparalleled  extent,  both  the  stores  and 
the  resources  of  the  human  faculties. 

3.  Whether  the  brisk  concussion  which  was  given  to  men's 
minds  by  the  force  of  the  Reformation,  had  much  effect  in 
producing  this  sudden  development  of  British  genius,  we  can 
not  undertake  to  determine.  For  our  own  part,  we  should 
be  rather  inclined  to  hold,  that  the  Reformation  itself  was 
but  one  symptom  or  effect  of  that  great  spirit  of  progression 
and  improvement,  which  had  been  set  in  operation  by  deeper 
and  more  general  causes,  and  which  afterwards  blossomed  out 
into  this  splendid  harvest  of  authorship. 

4.  But  whatever  may  have  been  the  causes  that  determhied 
the  appearance  of  those  great  works,  the  fact  is  certain,  not 
only  that  they  appeared  together  in  great  numbers,  but  that 
they  possessed  a  common  character,  which,  in  spite  of  the 
great  diversity  of  their  subjects  and  designs,  would  have  made 
them  be  classed  together  as  the  works  of  the  same  order  or 
description  of  men,  even  if  they  had  appeared  at  the  moft 
distant  intervals  of  time. 

5.  They  are  the  works  of  giants,  in  short — and  of  giants  of 
one  nation  and  family  •,  and  their  characteristics  are,  great 
force,  boldness,  and  originality,  together  with  a  certain  raciness 


190  SANDERS^    NEW    SERIES. 

of  English  peculiarity,  which  distinguishes  them  from  all 
those  performances  that  have  since  been  produced  among  our- 
selves, upon  a  more  vague  and  general  idea  of  European  ex- 
cellence. 

6.  Their  sudden  appearance,  indeed,  in  all  this  splendor  of 
native  luxuriance,  can  only  be  compared  to  what  happens  on 
the  breaking  up  of  a  virgin  soil,  where  all  the  indigenous 
plants  spring  up  at  once  with  a  rank  and  irrepressible  fertility, 
and  display  whatever  is  peculiar  or  excellent  in  their  nature, 
on  a  scale  the  most  conspicuous  and  magnificent. 

7.  The  crops  are  not,  indeed,  so  clean  as  where  a  more  ex- 
hausted mold  has  been  stimulated  by  systematic  cultivation; 
nor  so  profitable  as  where  their  quality  has  been  varied  by  a 
judicious  admixture  of  exotics,  and  accommodated  to  the 
demands  of  the  universe  by  the  combinations  of  an  unlimited 
trade.  But  of  those  whose  chief  object  of  admiration  is  the 
living  power  and  energy  of  vegetation,  and  who  take  delight 
in  contemplating  the  various  forms  of  her  unforced  and  natu- 
ral perfection,  no  spectacle  can  be  more  rich,  splendid,  or 
attractive. 

Questions. — 1.  Why  the  rising  inflection  on  genius,  3d  paragraph  ? 
See  Rule  V.,  page  29.  2.  Why  the  rising  inflection  on  splendid^  last 
paragraph?     See  Rule  VII.,  page  31. 


EXERCISE    LIX. 


THE  PRINCESS   CHARLOTTE    OF   WALES. 

KOBEET   HALL. 

1,  It  is  no  reflection  on  this  amiable  princess  to  suppose,  that 
in  her  early  dawn,  with  the  dew  of  her  youth  so  fresh  upon 
her,  she  anticipated  a  long  series  of  years,  and  expected  to  be 
led  through  successive  scenes  of  enchantment,  rising  above 
each  other  in  fascination  and  beauty. 

2.  It  is  natural  to  suppose  she  identified  herself  with 
ithis  great  nation  which  she  was  bom  to  govern;  and  that, 


.-^^ 


YOUNG     LADIES'  READER.  191 


while  she  conteniplated  its  pre-eminent  luster  in  arts  and  in 
arms,  its  commerce  encircling  the  globe,  its  colonies  diffused 
through  both  hemispheres,  and  the  beneficial  effects  of  its  in- 
stitutions extending  to  the  whole  earth,  she  considered  them 
as  so  many  component  parts  of  her  grandeur. 

3.  Her  heart,  we  may  well  conceive,  would  often  be  ruffled 
with  emotions  of  trembling  ecstasy,  when  she  reflected  that 
it  was  her  province  to  live  entirely  for  others,  to  compose  the 
felicity  of  a  great  people,  to  move  in  a  sphere  which  would 
afford  scope  for  the  exercise  of  philanthropy  the  most  enlarged, 
of  wisdom  the  most  enlightened  ;  and  that,  while  others  are 
doomed  to  pass  through  the  world  in  obscurity,  she  was  to 
supply  the  materials  of  history,  and  to  impart  that  impulse 
to  society,  which  was  to  decide  the  destiny  of  future  genera- 
tions. 

4.  Fired  with  the  ambition  of  equaling  or  surpassing  the 
most  distinguished  of  her  predecessors,  she  probably  did  not 
despair  of  reviving  the  remembrance  of  the  brightest  parts 
of  their  story,  and  of  once  more  attaching  the  epoch  of  Brit- 
ish glory  to  the  annals  of  a  female  reign.  It  is  needless  to 
add,  that  the  nation  went  with  her,  and  probably  outstripped 
her  in  these  delightful  anticipations. 

5.  We  fondly  hoped  that  a  life  so  inestimable  would  be 
protracted  to  a  distant  period,  and  that,  after  diiTusing  the 
blessings  of  a  just  and  enlightened  administration,  and  being 
surrounded  by  a  numerous  progeny,  she  would  gradually,  in 
a  good  old  age,  sink  under  the  horizon,  amid  the  embraces  of 
lier  family,  and  the  benedictions  of  her  country. 

0.  But,  alas  !  (pi.)  these  delightful  visions  are  fled,  and  what 
do  we  behold  in  their  room  but  the  funeral  pall  and  shroud, 
a  palace  in  mourning,  a  nation  in  tears,  and  the  shadow  of 
death  settled  over  both  like  a  cloud !  O  the  unspeakable 
vanity  of  human  hopes  !  the  incurable  blindness  of  man  to 
futurity !  ever  doomed  to  grasp  at  shadows,  to  seize  with 
avidity  what  turns  to  dust  and  ashes  in  his  hands,  to  sow  the 
wind,  and  reap  the  whirlwind. 


192  SANDERS'   ITEW    SERIES. 


EXERCISE    LX. 

This  and  the  following  piece  should  be  read  quite  slow,  and  in  a 
pathetic  tone  of  voice. 

THE  DEATH-BED 

THOMAS  nOOD, 

1.  We  watched  her  breathing  through  the  night, 
(j),)   Her  breathing  soft  and  low, 

As  in  her  breast  the  wave  of  life 
Kept  heaving  to  and  fro  ! 

2.  So  silently  we  seem'd  to  speak, — 
(*f-)    So  slowly  moved  about, 

As  we  had  lent  her  half  our  powers 
To  eke  her  being  out ! 

3.  Our  very  hopes  belied  our  fears. 

Our  fears  our  hopes  belied, — 
.  We  thought  her  dyinff  when  she  slept, 
And  sleeping  when  she  died  ! 

4.  For  when  the  morn  came,  dim  and  sad, 

And  chill  with  early  showers, 
Her  quiet  eyelids  closed — she  had 
Another  morn  than  ours  ! 

Questions. — 1.  What  kind  of  pause  at  the  dash,  4th  stanza  ?  &«*e 
Remarks,  page  43.  2.  What  kind  of  emphasis  on  the  words  itali 
cised,  sd  stanza  ?    See  Note  VII.,  page  22. 


EXERCISE    LXI. 


A  DIRGE  FOR  THE    BEAUTIFUL. 

D.    ELLEN   GOODMAW. 

1.  Softly,  peacefully, 
(pi.)    Lay  her  to  rest ; 
Place  the  turf  lightly 
Qn  her  yxmog  breast ; 


YOUNG    LADIES*  READEB,  193 

Gentl}'',  solemnly, 

Bend  o'er  the  bed, 
Where  ye  have  pillowed 

Thus  early  her  head. 

2.  Plant  a  young  willow 
Close  by  her  grave ; 

Let  its  long  branches 

Soothingly  wave ; 
Twine  a  sweet  rose-tree 

Over  the  tomb ; 
Sprinkle  fresh  buds  there,-*— 

Beauty  and  bloom. 

3.  Let  a  bright  fountain, 
Limpid  and  clear. 

Murmur  its  music. 

Smile  through  a  tear  ; 
Scatter  its  diamonds 

Where  the  loved  lies, — 
Brilliant  and  starry. 

Like  angels'  eyes. 

4.  Then  shall  the  bright  birds 
On  golden  wing, 

Lingering  ever. 

Murmuring  sing : 
Then  shall  the  soft  breeze 

Pensively  sigh, — 
Bearing  rich  fragrance 

And  melody  by. 

6.  Lay  the  sod  lightly 
Over  her  breast ; 
Calm  be  her  slumbers, 
Peaceftil  her  rest. 
9 


194  SANDEES'     NEW     SERIES, 


Beautiful,  lovely, 
She  was  but  given, 

A  fair  bud  to  earth, 
To  blossom  in  heaven. 


EXERCISE    LXII. 
THE  PURE  IN  HEART  SHALL  MEET  AGAIN. 

WILLIAM   LEGOmi 

1.  Tf  yon  bright  stars,  which  gem  the  night. 

Be  each  a  blissful  dwelling  sphere, 
Where  kindred  spirits  re-unite, 

Whom  Death  hath  torn  asunder  here, — 
How  sweet  it  were  at  once  to  die. 

And  leave, this  blighted  orb  afar, — 
Mixed  soul  with  soul,  to  cleave  the  sky. 

And  soar  away  from  star  to  star. 

2.  But  O,  how  dark,  how  drear,  how  lone, 

Would  seem  the  brightest  world  of  bliss, 
If,  wandering  through  each  radiant  one, 

We  failed  to  find  the  loved  of  this ! — 
If  there  no  more  the  ties  shall  twi!ie. 

That  Death's  cold  hand  alone  can  sever  ! 
Ah !  then  these  stars  in  mockery  shine, 

More  hateful  as  they  shine  forever. 

8.  It  can  not  be  ;  each  hope,  each  fear, 

That  lights  the  eye,  or  clouds  the  brow, 
Proclaims  there  is  a  happier  sphere 

Than  this  bleak  world  that  holds  us  now. 
There  is  a  voice  which  sorrow  hears. 

When  heaviest  weighs  life's  galling  chair  ,— 
Tis  Heaven  that  whispers, — "  Dry  thy  tears, 

The  pure  in  heart  shall  meet  ag\in." 


YOUNG    LADIES'    EEADEE.  195 


EXERCISE   LXIII. 

LIFE  ENDEARED  BY  AGE. 

OLIVKE  G<I,DSMITH. 

1.  Age,  that  lessens  the  enjoyment  of  life,  increases  our  (Je- 
sire  of  living.  Those  dangers  which,  in  the  vigor  of  youth, 
we  had  learned  to  despise,  assume  new  terrors  as  we  grow 
old.  Our  caution  increasing  as  our  years  increase,  fear  be« 
comes  at  last  the  prevailing  passion  of  the  mind ;  and  the 
small  remainder  of  life  is  taken  up  in  useless  efforts  to  keep 
off  our  end,  or  provide  for  a  continued  existence. 

2.  Strange  contradiction  in  our  nature,  and  to  which  even 
the  wise  are  liable !  If  I  should  judge  of  that  part  of  life, 
which  lies  before  me,  by  that  which  I  have  already  seen,  the 
prospect  is  hideous.  Experience  tells  me,  that  my  past  en- 
joyments have  brought  no  real  felicity,  and  sensation  assures 
me,  that  those  I  have  felt  are  stronger  than  those  which  are 
yet  to  come.  Yet  experience  and  sensation  in  vain  persuade ; 
hope,  more  powerful  than  either,  dresses  out  the  distant  pros- 
pect in  fancied  beauty  ;  some  happiness,  in  long  perspective, 
still   beckons  me   to  pursue,  and,  like  a  losing   gamester, 


e^to  p 


every  new  disappl^jpiient  increases  my  ardor  to  continxie 
the  game. 

3.  Whence,  my  friend,  this  increased  love  of  life,  which 
grows  upon  us  with  our  years  1  whence  comes  it,  that  we 
thus  make  greater  eflbrts  to  preserve  our  existence  at  a  period 
when  it  becomes  scarcely  worth  the  keeping  1  Is  it  that  Na- 
ture, attentive  to  the  preservation  of  mankind,  increases  our 
wishes  to  live,  while  she  lessens  our  enjoyments  ;  and,  as  she 
robs  the  senses  of  every  pleasure,  equips  imagination  in  the 
spoil  ] 

4.  Life  would  be  insupportable  to  an  old  man  who,  loaded 
with  infirmities,  feared  death  no  more  than  when  in  the  vigor 
of  manhood ;  the  numberless  calamities  of  decaying  nature, 
and  the  consciousness  of  surviving  every  pleasure,  would  at 
once  induce  him,  with  his  own  hand,  to  terminate  the  scene 


196  SANDEES'    NEW    SEKIES. 


of  misery  ;  but,  happily,  the  contempt  of  death  forsakes  hini 
at  a  time,  when  it  could  be  only  prejudicial,  and  life  acquires 
an  imaginary  value  in  proportion  as  its  real  value  is  no  more. 

5.  Our  attachment  to  every  object  around  us  increases,  in 
general,  from  the  length  of  our  acquaintance  with  it.  "  I 
would  not  choose,"  says  a  French  philosopher,  "  to  see  an  old 
post  pulled  up  with  which  I  had  been  long  acquainted."  A 
mind  long  habituated  to  a  certain  set  of  objects  insensibly 
becomes  fond  of  seeing  them ;  visits  them  from  habit,  and 
parts  from  them  with  reluctance.  Hence  proceeds  the  ava- 
rice of  the  old  in  every  kind  of  possession ;  they  love  the 
world  and  all  that  it  produces  ;  they  love  life  and  all  its  ad- 
vantages ;  not  because  it  gives  them  pleasure,  but  because 
they  have  known  it  long. 

6.  Chinvang,  the  Chaste,  ascending  the  throne  of  China, 
commanded  that  all  who  were  unjustly  detained  in  prison 
during  the  preceding  reigns  should  be  set  free.  Among  the 
number  who  came  to  thank  their  deliverer  on  this  occasion, 
there  appeared  a  majestic  old  man,  who,  falling  at  the  empe- 
ror's feet,  addressed  him  as  follows  :  "  Great  father  of  China, 
behold  a  wretch,  now  eighty-five  years  old,  who  was  shut  up 
in  a  dungeon  at  the  age  of  twenty-two,^^was  imprisoned, 
though  a  stranger  to  crime,  or  without  bemg  even  confronted 
by  my  accusers.  I  have  now  lived  in  solitude  and  in  darkness 
for  more  than  fifty  years,  and  am  grown  familiar  with  distress. 

7.  "  As  yet,  dazzled  with  the  splendor  of  that  sun,  to  which 
you  have  restored  me,  I  have  been  wandering  the  streets  to 
find  some  friend  that  would  assist,  or  relieve,  or  remember 
me ;  but  my  fi-iends,  my  family,  and  relations  are  all  dead, 
and  I  am  forgotten  Permit  me,  then,  O  Chinvang,  to  wear 
out  the  wretched  remains  of  life  in  my  former  prison ;  the 
walls  of  my  dungeon  are  to  me  more  pleasing  than  the  most 
splendid  palace :  I  have  not  long  to  live,  and  shall  be  un- 
happy except  I  spend  the  rest  of  my  days  where  my  youth 
was  passed — in  that  prison  from  which  you  were  pleased  to 
release  me." 

% 


I 


YOUKG     LADIES'    READER.  197 

8.  The  old  man's  passion  for  confinement  is  similar  to  that 
we  all  have  for  life.  We  are  habituated  to  the  prison,  we 
look  round  with  discontent,  are  displeased  with  the  abode, 
and  yet  the  length  of  our  captivity  only  increases  our  fond- 
ness for  the  cell.  The  trees  we  have  planted,  the  houses  we 
have  built,  or  the  posterity  we  have  begotten,  all  serve  to 
bind  us  closer  to  earth,  and  imbitter  our  parting.  Life  sues 
the  young  like  a  new  acquaintance ;  the  companion,  as  yet 
unexhausted,  is  at  once  instructive  and  amusing ;  its  company 
pleases,  yet,  for  all  this,  it  is  but  little  regarded. 

9.  To  us,  who  are  declined  in  years,  life  appears  like  an 
old  friend ;  its  jests  have  been  anticipated  in  former  conversa- 
tion ;  it  has  no  new  story  to  make  us  smile,  no  new  improve- 
ment with  which  to  surprise.  Yet  still  we  love  it ;  destitute 
of  every  enjoyment,  still  we  love  it ;  husband  the  wasting 
treasure  with  increased  frugality,  and  feel  all  the  poignancy 
of  anguish  in  the  fatal  separation. 


EXERCISE    LXIV. 
'    ESTIMATE   OF   LIFE. 

•WnXTAM  HAZIITT. 

1.  It  is  little,  it  is  short,  it  is  not  worth  having — if  we  take 
th'*,  last  hour,  and  leave  out  all  that  has  gone  before,  which 
has  been  one  way  of  looking  at  the  subject.  Such  calculators 
seem  to  say,  that  life  is  nothing  when  it  is  over ;  and  that 
may,  in  their  sense,  be  true.  If  the  old  rule — Respice  Jlnem* 
— were   to   be  made   absolute,  and   no   one  could  be  pro- 

ounced  fortunate  till  the  day  of  his  death,  there  are  few 
among  us  whose  existence  would,  upon  such  conditions,  be 
much  to  he  envied.  # 

2.  But  this  is  not  a  fair  view  of  the  case.  A  man's  life  is 
his  whole  life,  not  to  the  last  glimmering  snuff  of  the  candle  ; 
and  this,  I  say,  is  considerable,  and  not  a  little  matter^  whether 

*  Respice  finem — Regard  the  end. 


198  SANDEflS'     KEW     SERIES. 

we  regard  its  pleasures  or  its  pains.  To  draw  a  peevish 
conclusion  to  the  contrary,  fronn  our  own  superannuated  de- 
sires of  forgetful  indifference,  is  about  as  reasonable  as  to  say;, 
a  man  never  was  young,  because  he  has  grown  old,  or  never 
lived,  because  he  is  now  dead. 

3.  The  length  or  agreeableness  of  a  journey  does  not  de- 
pend on  the  few  last  steps  of  it,  nor  is  the  size  of  a  building 
to  be  judged  of  from  the  last  stone  that  is  added  to  it.  It  is 
neither  the  first  nor  the  last  hour  of  our  existence,  but  the 
space  that  parts  these  two — not  our  exit,  nor  our  entrance 
upon  the  stage,  but  what  we  do  feel,  and  think  while 
there — that  we  are  to  attend  to  in  pronouncing  sentence 
upon  it. 

4.  Indeed,  it  would  be  easy  to  show  that  it  is  the  very  ex- 
tent of  human  life,  the  infinite  number  of  things  contained  in 
it,  its  contradictory  and  fluctuating  interests,  the  transition 
from  one  situation  to  another,  the  hours,  months,  years,  spent 
in  one  fond  pursuit  after  another ;  that  it  is,  in  a  word,  the 
length  of  our  common  journey,  and  the  quantity  of  events 
crowded  into  it,  that,  baffling  the  grasp  of  our  actual  percep- 
tion, make  it  slide  from  our  memory,  a^^Awindle  into  no- 
thing in  its  own  perspective.  ^^^B 

5.  It  is  too  mighty  for  us,  and  we  say  l^s  nothing  !  It  is 
a  speck  in  our  fancy,  and  yet  what  canvas  would  be  big 
enough  to  hold  its  striking  groups,  its  endless  objects  !  It  is 
light  as  vanity  ;  and  yet,  if  all  its  weary  moments,  if  all  its 
head  and  heart-aches  were  compressed  into  one,  what  fortitude 
would  not  be  overwhelmed  with  the  blow ! 

6.  What  a  huge  heap,  a  "huge  dumb  heap,"  of  wishes, 
thoughts,  feelings,  anxious  cares,  soothing  hopes,  loves,  joys, 
friendships,  it  is  composed  of !     How  many  ideas  and  trains 

«)f  sentiment,  long,  deep,  and  intense,  often  pass  through  the 
mind  in  one  day's  thinking  or  reading,  for  instance  ! 

7.  How  many  such  days  are  there  in  a  year,  how  many 
years  in  a  long  life,  still  occupied  with  something  interesting 
" — still  recalling  some  old  impression — still  recurring  to  some 


YOUNQ    LADIES'    READEE.  199 

difficult  question,  and  making  progress  in  it,  every  step  ac- 
companied with  a  sense  of  power,  and  every  moment  con- 
scious of  "  the  high  endeavor  or  the  glad  success ;"  for  the 
mind  seizes  only  on  that  which  keeps  it  employed,  and  is 
wound  up  to  a  certain  pitch  of  pleasurable  excitement  by  the 
necessity  of  its  own  nature. 


EXERCISE    LXV. 
RAVAGES   OF   TIME. 

Why  sitt'st  thou  by  that  ruined  hall, 
Thou  aged  carle  so  stern  and  gray  ? 

Dost  thou  its  former  pride  recall, 
Or  ponder  how  it  passed  away  1 


WALTER  SCOTT. 


2.  "  Knowest  thou  not  me  ?"  the  Deep  Voice  cried, 

"  So  long  enjoyed,  so  oft  misused, 
Alternate,  in  thy  fickle  pride. 
Desired,  neglected,  and  accused  1 

3.  "  Before  my  breath,  like  blazing  fiax, 

Man  and  his  marvels  pass  away ; 

And  changing  empires  wane  and  wax, 

Are  founded,  flourish,  and  decay. 

4.  "  Redeem  mine  hours — the  space  is  brief, — 

While  in  my  glass  the  sand-grains  shiver, 
And  measureless  thy  joy  or  grief, 

When  Time  and  thou  shall  part  forever  !" 

Questions. — 1.  What  rules  for  the  inflections  as  marked  in  the  first 
and  second  stanzas  ?  2.  Why  the  rising  inflection  on  flourish,  third 
etanza?    See  Rule  VII.,  page  31. 


200  SANDERS'     NEW     SERIES 

EXERCISE    LXVI. 
PASSING  AWAY. 

UISS   JEWSBUBT. 

1.  I  asked  the  stars  in  the  pomp  of  night, 
Gilding  its  blackness  with  crowns  of  light, 
Bright  with  beauty,  and  girt  with  power, 
Whether  eternity  were  not  their  dower  ; 
And  dirge-like  music  stole  from  their  spheres, 
Bearing  this  message  to  mortal  ears  ; — 

2.  "  We  have  no  light  that  hath  not  been  given ; 

We  have  no  strength  but  shall  soon  be  riven  ; 
We  have  no  power  wjierein  man  may  trust ; 
Like  him  are  we  things  of  time  and  dust ; 
And  the  legend  we  blazon  with  beam  and  ray, 
And  the  song  of  our  silence,  is — '  Passing  away,' 

3.  "  We  shall  fade  in  our  beauty,  the  fair  and  bright, 

Like  lamps  that  have  served  for  a  festal  night ; 
We  shall  fall  from  our  spheres,  the  old  and  strong, 
Like  rose-leaves  swept  by  the  breeze  along ; 
Though  worshiped  as  gods  in  the  olden  df\j, 
We  shall  be  like  a  vain  dream — '  Passinc  jlwat.'  '* 

4.  From  the  stars  of  heaven,  and  the  flowers  of  earth, 
From  the  pageant  of  power,  and  the  voice  of  m'>  th, 
From  the  mists  of  morn  on  the  mountain's  bro>3 
From  childhood's  song,  and  affection's  vow, — 
From  all,  save  that  o'er  which  soul  bears  swajr, 
Breathes  but  one  record — "  Passing  away." 

5.  "  Passing  away,"  sing  the  breeze  and  rill. 

As  they  sweep  in  their  course  by  vale  and  hill ; 
Through  the  varying  scenes  of  each  earthly  clime 
'Tis  the  lesson  of  nature,  the  voice  of  time ; 
And  man  at  last,  like  his  fathers  gray, 
Writes  in  his  own  dust — "  Passing  away.'* 


YOUKG     LADIES'    READER.  201 


EXERCISE    LXVII. 
WHEN  IS  THE  TIME  TO  DIE? 

AMANDA  U.   EPMONl 

1.  I  asked  a  glad  and  happy  child, 

Whose  hands  were  filled  with  flowers, 
Whose  silvery  laugh  rang  free  and  wild 

Among  the  vine-wreathed  bowers. 
I  cross'd  her  sunny  path,  and  cried, 

"  When  is  the  time  to  die  f 
(")   "  Not  yet !  not  yet !"  the  child  replied, 

And  swiftly  bounded  by. 

2.  I  asked  a  maiden,  back  she  flung 

The  tresses  of  her  hair ; 
A  whisper'd  name  was  on  her  tongue, 

Whose  memory  hover'd  there. 
A  flush  pass'd  o'er  her  lily  brow, 

I  caught  her  spirit's  sigh  ; 
"  Not  now,"  she  cried,  "  O  no,  not  now  ! 

Youth  is  no  time  to  die." 

3.  I  asked  a  mother,  as  she  pressed 

Her  first-born  in  her  arms, 
As  gently,  on  her  tender  breast. 

She  hush'd  her  babe's  alarms. 
In  quiv'ring  tones  her  answer  came. 

Pier  eyes  were  dim  with  tears, 
"  My  boy  his  mother's  life  must  claim, 

For  many,  many  years  !" 

4.  I  questioned  one  in  manhood's  prime, 

Of  proud  and  fearless  air, 
His  brow  was  furrow'd  not  by  time, 

Or  dimmed  by  woe  and  care. 
In  angry  accents  he  replied, — 

And  gleam'd  with  scorn  his  eye, 
9* 


iO^  sandehs'  new  series. 

"  Talk  not  to  me  of  death,"  he  cried  -, 
"  For  only  acfe  should  die." 

5.  I  questioned  Age ;  for  him,  the  tomb 

Had  long  been  all  prepared. 
But  death,  who  withers  youth  and  bloom, 

This  man  of  years  had  spared. 
Once  more  his  nature's  dying  fire 
Flash'd  high,  as  thus  he  cried, 
(/)  "  Life,  only  life  is  my  desire  !" 
(>)       Then  gasped,  and  groaned,  and  died. 

6.  I  asked  a  Christian, — "  Answer  thou 

When  is  the  hour  of  death  *?" 
A  holy  calm  was  on  his  brow, 

And  peaceful  was  his  breath ; 
And  sweetly  o'er  his  features  stole 

A  smile,  a  light  divine  ; 
Ho  spake  the  language  of  his  soul, — 

"  Ml/  Master'' s  time  is  mine  /" 

Questions. — 1.  On  what  principle  are  me  and  cige  emphatic,  4th 
stanza  ?  See  Note  VIL,  page  22.  2.  What  kind  of  emphasis  on  life, 
6th  verse  ? 


EXERCISE    LXVIII. 
HISTORICAL   READING. 


IIACAULAT. 

1.  The  effect  of  historial  reading  is  analogous,  in  many  re- 
spects, to  lil^at  produced  by  foreign  travel.  The  student,  like 
the  tourist,  is  transported  into  a  new  state  of  society.  He  sees 
new  fashions.  He  hears  new  modes  of  expression.  His  mmd 
is  enlarged  by  contemplating  the  wide  diversities  of  laws,  of 
morals,  and  of  manners.  But  men  may  travel  far,  and  return 
with  mmds  as  contracted,  as  if  they  had  never  stirred  from 
their  own  market-town. 


YOUNG    LADIES'  READER.  203 

2.  In  the  same  manner,  men  may  know  the  dates  of  many 
battles,  and  the  genealogies  of  many  royal  houses,  and  yet  be 
no  wiser.  Most  people  look  at  past  times  as  princes  look 
at  foreign  countries.  More  than  one  illustrious  strapger  has 
landed  on  our  island  amidst  the  shouts  of  a  mob,  has  dined 
with  the  king,  has  hunted  with  the  master  of  the  stag-hounds, 
has  seen  the  Guards  reviewed,  and  a  knight  of  the  garter  in- 
stalled ;  has  cantered  along  Regent  street ;  has  visited  St. 
Paul's,  and  noted  down  its  dimensions,  and  has  then  depart- 
ed, thinking  that  he  has  seen  England. 

3.  He  has,  in  fact,  seen  a  few  public  buildings,  public  men, 
and  public  ceremonies.  But  of  the  vast  and  complex  system 
of  society,  of  the  fine  shades  of  national  character,  of  the 
practical  operation  of  government  and  laws,  he  knows  no- 
thing. He  who  would  understand  these  things  rightly,  must 
not  confine  his  observations  to  palaces  and  solemn  days. 

4.  He  must  see  ordinary  men  as  they  appear  in  their  or- 
dinary business,  and  in  their  ordinary  pleasures.  He  must 
mingle  in  the  crowds  of  the  exchange  and  the  coffee-house. 
He  must  obtain  admittance  to  the  convivial  table  and  the  do- 
mestic hearth.  He  must  bear  with  vulgar  expressions.  He 
must  not  shrink  from  exploring  even  the  retreats  of  misery. 

5.  He  who  wishes  to  understand  the  condition  of  mankind 
in  former  ages,  must  proceed  on  the  same  principle.  If  he 
attends  only  to  public  transactions,  to  wars,  congresses,  and 
debates,  his  studies  will  be  as  unprofitable  as  the  travels  of 
those  imperial,  royal,  and  serene  sovereigns,  who  form  their 
judgment  of  our  island  from  having  gone  in  state  to  a  few 
fine  sights,  and  from  having  held  formal  conferences  with  a 
few  great  officers. 

6.  The  perfect  historian  is  he,  in  whose  work  the  character 
and  spirit  of  an  age  are  exhibited  in  miniature.  He  relates  no 
fact,  he  attributes  no  expression  to  his  characters,  which  is 
not  authenticated  by  sufficient  testimony.  But,  by  judicious 
selection,  rejection,  and  arrangement,  he  gives  to  truth  those 
attractions  which  have  been  usurped  by  fiction.     In  his  narra- 


204  SANDERS'    NEW    SERIES. 

tive,  a  due  subordination  is  observed  ;  some  transactions  are 
prominent,  others  retire. 

7.  But  the  scale  on  which  he  represents  them,  is  increased 
or  diminished,  not  according  to  the  dignity  of  the  persons 
concerned  in  them,  but  according  to  the  degree  in  which  they 
elucidate  the  condition  of  society  and  the  nature  of  man.  He 
shows  us  the  court,  the  camp,  and  the  senate.  But  he  shows 
us  also  the  nation. 

8.  He  considers  no  anecdote,  no  peculiarity  of  manner,  no 
familiar  saying,  as  too  insignificant  for  his  notice,  which  is  not 
too  insignificant  to  illustrate  the  operation  of  laws,  of  religion, 
and  of  education,  and  to  mark  the  progress  of  the  human 
mind.  Men  will  not  merely  be  described,  but  will  be  made 
intimately  known  to  us.  The  changes  of  manners  will  be  in- 
dicated, not  merely  by  a  few  general  phrases,  or  a  few  ex- 
tracts from  statistical  documents,  but  by  appropriate  images 
presented  in  every  line. 


EXERCISE   LXIX. 
ITALIAN  SCENERY. 


ALISON. 

1.  The  Italian  lakes  partake,  in  some  measure,  in  the  general 
features  which  have  been  mentioned  as  belonging  to  the  val- 
leys on  the  southern  side  of  the  Alps ;  but  they  are  charac- 
terized, also,  by  some  circumstances  which  are  peculiar  to 
themselves.  Their  banks  are  almost  everywhere  formed  of 
steep  mountains,  which  sink  at  once  into  the  lake  without  any 
meadows  or  level  ground  on  the  water  side. 

2.  These  mountains  are  generally  of  great  hight,  and  of 
the  most  rugged  forms ;  but  they  are  clothed  to  the  summit 
with  luxuriant  woods,  except  in  those  places  where  the  steep- 
ness of  the  precipices  precludes  the  growth  of  vegetation. 
The  continued  appearance  of  front  and  precipice  which  they 
exhibit,  would  lead  to  the  belief  th^t  the  banks  of  the  lake 


YOUNG     LADIES'     READER.  205 

are  uninhabited,  were  it  not  for  the  multitude  of  villages,  with 
which  they  are  everywhere  interspersed. 

3.  These  villages  are  so  numerous  and  extensive,  that  it 
may  be  doubted  whether  the  population  anywhere  in  Europe 
is  denser  than  on  the  shores  of  the  Italian  lakes.  No  spec- 
tacle in  nature  can  be  more  beautiful  than  the  aspect  of 
these  clusters  of  human  habitations,  all  built  of  stone,  and 
whitewashed  in  the  neatest  manner,  with  a  simple  spire  rising 
in  the  center  of  each,  to  mark  the  number  and  devotion  of 
the  inhabitants,  surrounded  by  luxuriant  forests,  and  rising 
one  above  another  to  the  highest  parts  of  the  mountains. 

4.  Frequently  the  village  is  concealed  by  the  intervention 
of  some  rising  ground,  or  the  hight  of  the  adjoining  woods ; 
but  the  church  is  always  visible,  and  conveys  the  liveliest 
idea  of  the  peace  and  happiness  of  the  inhabitants.  These 
rural  temples  are  uniformly  white,  and  their  spires  are  of  the 
simplest  form ;  but  it  is  difficult  to  convey  to  those  who  have 
not  seen  them,  an  idea  of  the  exquisite  addition  which  they 
form  to  the  beauty  of  the  scenery. 

5.  On  a  nearer  approach,  the  situation  of  these  villages,  so 
profusely  scattered  over  the  mountains  which  surround  the 
Italian  lakes,  is  often  interesting  in  the  extreme.  Placed  on 
the  summit  of  projecting  rocks,  or  sheltered  in  the  defile  of 
secluded  valleys,  they  exhibit  every  variety  of  aspect  that 
can  be  imagined  ;  but,  wherever  situated,  they  add  to  the  in- 
terest, or  enhance  the  picturesque  effect  of  the  scene* 

6.  The  woods,  by  which  they  are  surrounded,  and  which, 
from  a  distance,  have  the  appearance  of  a  continued  forest, 
are,  in  reality,  formed,  for  the  most  part,  of  the  walnuts  and 
sweet  chestnuts  which  grow  on  the  gardens  that  belong  to  the 
peasantry,  and  conceal,  beneath  their  shade,  vineyards,  corn- 
fields, and  orchards.  Each  cottager  has  his  little  domain, 
,vhich  is  cultivated  by  his  own  family ;  a  single  chestnut,  and 
a  few  mulbeiTy  trees,  with  a  small  vineyard,  constitute  oflen 
the  whole  of  their  humble  property. 

7.  On  this  little  spot,  however,  they  find  wherewithal  both 


206  SANDERS'  NEW    SERIES. 

to  satisfy  their  wants  and  to  occupy  their  industry  ;  the  chil- 
dren take  care  of  the  mulberries  and  the  silk -worms,  which 
are  here  produced  in  great  abundance ;  the  husband  dresses 
the  vineyard,  or  works  in  the  garden,  as  the  season  may  re- 
quire. On  an  incredibly  small  piece  of  ground,  a  numerous 
family  live  in  what  appears  to  them,  ease  and  affluence ;  and, 
if  they  can  maintain  themselves  during  the  year,  and  pay 
their  rent  at  its  termination,  their  desires  never  go  beyond 
the  space  of  their  own  employment. 

8.  In  this  simple  and  unambitious  style  of  life,  it  may 
easily  be  conceived  what  the  general  character  of  the  peas- 
antry must  be.  Generally  speaking,  they  are  a  simple,  kind- 
hearted,  honest  people,  grateful  to  the  last  degree  for  the 
Smallest  share  of  kindness,  and  always  willing  to  share  with 
a  stranger  the  produce  of  their  little  domains.  The  crimes 
of  murder  and  robbery  are  almost  unknown,  at  least  among 
the  peasantry  themselves,  although,  on  the  great  roads  in 
their  vicinity,  banditti  are  sometimes  to  be  found.  But,  if  a 
stranger  lives  in  the  country,  and  reposes  confidence  in  the 
people,  he  will  find  himself  as  secure,  and  more  respected, 
than  in  most  other  parts  of  the  world. 

9.  There  is  one  delightful  circumstance  which  occurs  in 
spring  in  the  vicinity  of  these  lakes,  to  which  a  northern  trav- 
eler is  but  little  accustomed.  During  the  months  of  April 
and  May^  the  woods  are  filled  with  nightingales,  and  thou- 
sands of  these  little  choristers  pour  forth  their  strains  every 
night,  with  a  richness  and  melody,  of  which  it  is  impossible  to 
form  a  conception.  In  England  we  are  accustomed  frequent- 
ly to  hear  the  nightingale,  and  his  song  has  been  celebrated 
in  poetry  from  the  earliest  periods  of  our  history. 

10.  But  it  is  generally  a  single  song,  to  which  we  listen,  or 
at  most,  a  few  only,  which  unite  to  enliven  the  stillness  of  the 
night.  But  on  the  banks  of  the  lake  of  Como,  thousands  of 
nightingales  are  to  be  found  in  every  wood;  they  rest  in 
every  tree — they  pour  forth  their  melody  on  the  roof  of 
€very   <?uttage.     Wherever  you  walk  during  the  delightful 


YOUNG     LADIES'    READER.  207 

nights  of  April  or  May,  you  hear  the  unceasing  strains  of 
these  unseen  warblers,  swelling  on  the  evening  gales,  or  dying 
away  as  you  recede  from  the  woods  or  thickets  where  they 
dwell. 

11.  The  soft  cadence  and  melodious  swelling  of  this  heav- 
enly choir  resemble  more  the  enchanting  sounds  of  the  Eo- 
lian  harp  than  any  thing  produced  by  mortal  organs.  To 
those  who  have  seen  the  lake  of  Como,  with  such  accompani- 
ments, during  the  serenity  of  a  summer  evening,  and  with 
the  surrounding  headlands  and  mountains  reflected  on  its  plac- 
id waters,  there  are  few  scenes  in  nature,  and  few  moments 
in  life,  which  can  be  the  source  of  such  delightful  recollec- 
tions. 


EXERCISE    LXX, 


LOSS   OF  THE   ARCTIC* 

HENEr   WARD   BEECHES. 

1.  It  was  autumn.  Hundreds  had  wended  their  way 
from  pilgrimages ;  from  Rome  and  its  treasures  of  d5ad  art, 
and  its  glory  of  living  nature ;  from  the  sides  of  the  Switzer's 
mountains,  from  the  capitals  of  various  nations  ;  all  of  them 
saying  in  their  hearts,  we  will  wait  for  the  September  gales 
to  have  done  with  their  equinoctial  fury,  and  then  we  will 
embark ;  we  will  slide  across  the  appeased  ocean,  and,  m  the 
gorgeous  month  of  October,  we  will  greet  our  longed-for  na- 
tive land,  and  our  heart-loved  homes. 

2.  And  so  the  throng  streamed  along  from  Berlin,  from 
Paris,  from  the  Orient,f  converging  upon  London,  still  hasten- 
ing toward  the  welcome  ship,  and  narrowing  every  day  the 
circle   of   engagements   and   preparations.      They   crowded 

*  The  wreck  of  the  American  steamer  Arctic,  occasioned  by  her 
collision  with  the  French  steamer  Vesta,  occurred  on  the  27 th  day  of 
September,  1854. 

f  The  East. 


208  SANDERS'    NEW    SERIES. 


aboard.     Never  had  the  Arctic  borne  such  a  host  of  passen- 
gers, nor  passengers  so  nearly  related  to  so  many  of  us. 

3.  The  hour  was  come.  The  signal  ball  fell  at  Greenwich. 
It  was  noon,  also,  at  Liverpool.  The  anchors  were  weighed  ; 
the  great  hull  swayed  to  the  current ;  the  national  colors 
streamed  abroad,  as  if  themselves  instinct  with  life  and  na- 
tional sympathy.  The  bell  strikes,  the  wheels  revolve,  the 
signal-gun  beats  its  echoes  in  upon  every  structure  along  the 
shore,  and  the  Arctic  glides  joyfully  forth  from  the  Mersey, 
and  turns  her  prow  to  the  winding  channel,  and  begins  her 
homeward  run. 

4.  The  pilot  stood  at  the  wheel,  and  men  saw  him.  Death 
sat  upon  the  prow,  and  no  eye  beheld  him.  Whoever  stood 
at  the  wheel  in  all  the  voyage.  Death  was  the  pilot  that  steered 
the  craft,  and  none  knew  it.  He  neither  revealed  his  presence 
nor  whispered  his  errand.  And  so  hope  was  effulgent,  and 
lithe  gayety  disported  itself,  and  joy  was  with  every  guest. 

5.  Amid  all  the  inconveniences  of  the  voyage,  there  was 
still  that  which  hushed  every  murmur, — home  is  not  far  away. 
And,  every  morning,  it  was  still  one  night  nearer  home,  and,  at 
evening!  one  day  nearer  home !  Eight  days  had  passed. 
They  beheld  that  distant  bank  of  mist  that  forever  haunts 
the  vast  shallows  of  Newfoundland.  Boldly  they  made  it, 
and,  plunging  in,  its  pliant  wreaths  wrapped  them  about. 
They  shall  never  emerge.  The  last  sunlight  has  flashed  from 
that  deck.     The  last  voyage  is  done  to  ship  and  passengers. 

6.  At  noon  there  came  noiselessly  stealing  from  the  north 
that  fated  instrument*  of  destruction.  In  that  mysterious 
shroud,  that  vast  atmosphere  of  mist,  both  steamers  were 
holding  their  way  with  rushing  prow  and  roaring  wheels,  but 
invisible.  At  a  league's  distance,  unconscious,  and,  at  nearer 
approach,  unwarned ;  within  hail,  and  bearing  right  toward 
each  other,  unseen,  unfelt,  till,  in  a  mc»ment  more,  emerging 
from  the  gTay  mists,  the  ill-omened  Vesta  dealt  her  deadly 
stroke  to  the  Arctic. 

*  The  French  eteamer  Vesta. 


i 


YOUNG    LADIES'  READER.  209 

7.  The  death-blow  was  scarcely  felt  along  the  mighty  hull. 
She  neither  reeled  nor  shivered.  Neither  commander  nor 
officers  deemed  that  they  had  suffered  harm.  Prompt  upon 
humanity,  the  brave  Luce  (Let  his  name  be  ever  spoken  with 
admiration  and  respect !)  ordered  away  his  boat  with  the  first 
officer,  to  inquire  if  the  stranger  had  suffered  harm.  As 
Gourley*  went  over  the  ship's  side,  Oh !  that  some  good  angel 
had  called  to  the  brave  commander  in  the  words  of  Paul  on 
a  like  occasion :  "  Except  these  abide  in  the  ship,  ye  can  not  be 
saved." 

8.  They  departed,  and  with  them  the  hope  of  the  ship,  for 
now  the  waters,  gaining  upon  the  hold,  and  rising  up  upon  the 
fires,  revealed  the  mortal  blow.  Oh !  had  now  that  stern, 
brave  mate,  Gourley,  been  on  deck,  whom  the  sailors  were 
wont  to  mind — had  he  stood  to  execute  efficiently  the  com- 
mander's will — we  may  believe  that  we  should  not  have  to 
blush  for  the  cowardice  and  recreancy  of  the  crew,  nor  weep 
for  the  untimely  dead.  But  apparently  each  subordinate  offi- 
cer lost  all  presence  of  mind,  then  courage,  and  so  honor.  In 
a  wild  scramble,  that  ignoble  mob  of  firemen,  engineers, 
waiters  and  crew  rushed  for  the  boats,  and  abandoned  the 
helpless  women,  children  and  men  to  the  mercy  of  the  deep  ! 
Four  hours  there  were  from  the  catastrophe  of  the  collision 
to  the  catastrophe  of  the  sinking  ! 

9.  {j>l.)  Oh,  what  a  burial  was  here  !  Not  as  when  one  is 
borne  from  his  home,  among  weeping  throngs,  and  gently 
carried  to  the  green  fields,  and  laid  peacefully  beneath  the 
turf  and  the  flowers.  No  priest  stood  to  pronounce  a  burial 
service.  It  was  an  ocean  grave.  The  mists  alone  shrouded 
the  burial-place.  No  spade  prepared  the  grave,  nor  sexton 
filled  up  the  hollowed  earth.  Down,  down  they  sank,  and  the 
quick  returning  waters  smoothed  out  every  ripple,  and  left 
the  sea  as  if  it  had  not  been. 

•  The  first  mate  of  the  Arctic. 


210  SANDERS      NEW     SERIES. 


EXERCISE     LXXI. 
TOWN   AND   COUNTRY. 

J.  SHERIDAN  KNOWUS. 

A  Garden  before  a  Country  House. — Enter  Julia  and  Helen, 

Hel.  I  like  not,  Julia,  this  your  country  life ; 
I  'm  weary  on 't. 

Jul  Indeed  1    So  am  not  // 
I  know  no  other  ;  would  no  other  know. 

Hel.  You  would  no  other  know !     Would  you  not  krow 
Another  relative, — another  friend, — 
Another  house, — another  any  thing. 
Because  the  ones  you  have  already  please  you  1 
That's  poor  content !     Would  you  not  be  more  rich. 
More  wise,  more  fkir  *?    The  song  that  last  you  learned, 
You  fancy  well ;  and,  therefore,  shall  you  learn 
No  other  song  %     Your  virginal,*  'tis  true, 
Hath  a  sweet  tone ;  but  does  it  follow  thence. 
You  shall  not  have  another  virginal  1 
You  may^  Love,  and  a  sweeter  one ;  and  so 
A  sweeter  life  may  find  than  this  you  lead ! 

Jul.  I  seek  it  not.     Helen,  I  'm  constancy  ! 

Hel.  So  is  a  cat,  a  dog,  a  silly  hen, 
An  owl,  a  bat, — where  they  are  wont  to  lodge, 
That  still  sojourn,  nor  care  to  shift  their  quarters. 
Thou  'rt  constancy  ?    I  'm  glad  I  know  thy  name! 
The  spider  comes  of  the  same  family, 
That  in  his  meshy  fortress  spends  his  life. 
Unless  you  pull  it  down,  and  scare  him  from  it. 
And  so,  thou  'rt  constancy  1     Art  proud  of  that  ? 
I  '11  warrant  thee  I  '11  match  thee  with  a  snail, 
From  year  to  year  that  never  leaves  his  house ! 
Such  constancy,  forsooth ! — A  constant  grub 
That  houses  ever  in  the  self-same  nut, 

*  A  keyed  instrument  of  rausio. 


YOUNG    LADIES'  READER.  1^11 

Where  he  was  born,  till  hunger  drives  him  out, 
Or  plunder  breaketh  through  his  castle  wall ! 
And  so,  in  very  deed,  thou  'rt  constancy  ! 

Jul.  Helen,  you  know  the  adage  of  the  tree  ; 
I  've  ta'en  the  bend.     This  rural  life  of  inin§, 
Enjoined  me  by  an  unknown  father's  will, 
I  've  led  from  infancy.     Debarred  from  hope 
Of  change,  I  ne'er  have  sighed  for  change.    The  town, 
To  me,  was  like  the  moon,  for  any  thought 
I  e'er  should  visit  it — nor  was  I  schooled 
To  think  it  half  so  fair  ! 

Hel.  Not  half  so  fair ! 
The  town  's  the  sun,  and  thou  hast  dwelt  in  night 
E'er  since  thy  birth,  not  to  have  seen  the  town ! 
Their  women  there  are  queens,  and  kings  their  men ; 
Their  houses  palaces ! 

Jul.  And  what  of  that  1 
Have  your  town  palaces  a  hall  like  this  1 
Couches  so  fragrant?  walls  so  high  adorned? 
Casements  with  such  festoons,  such  prospects,  Helen 
As  these  fair  vistas  have  ?    Your  kings  and  queens  I 
See  me  a  May-day  queen,  and  talk  of  them  ! 

Hel.  Extremes  are  ever  neighbors.     'Tis  a  step 
From  one  to  the  other !     Were  thy  constancy 
A  reasonable  thing — a  little  less 
Of  constancy — a  woman's  constancy — 
I  should  not  wonder,  wert  thou  ten  years  hence 
The  maid  I  know  thee  now  ;  but,  as  it  is, 
The  odds  are  ten  to  onCj  that  this  day  year 
Will  see  our  May -day  queen  a  city  one. 

Jul.  Never  !  I  'm  wedded  to  a  country  life, 
O,  did  you  hear  what  Master  Walter  says ! 
Nine  times  in  ten,  the  town  's  a  hollow  thing, 
Where  what  things  are,  is  naught  to  what  they  show  j 
Where  merit's  name  laughs  merit's  self  to  scorn  ! 
Where  friendship  and  esteem,  that  t)ught  to  be 


212  SANDEKS'  NEW    SERIES. 

The  tenants  of  men's  hearts,  lodge  in  their  looks 

And  tongues  alone.     Where  little  virtue,  with 

A  costly  keeper,  passes  for  a  heap  ; 

A  heap  for  none  that  has  a  homely  one ! 

Where  Fashion  makes  the  law — your  umpire  which 

You  bow  to,  whether  it  has  brains  or  not ; 

Where  Folly  taketh  off  his  cap  and  bells. 

To  clap  on  Wisdom,  which  must  bear  the  jest ! 

Where,  to  pass  current,  you  must  seem  the  thing, 

The  passive  thing  that  others  think,  and  not 

Your  simple,  honest,  independent  self! 

Hel.  Aye :  so  says  Master  Walter.     See  I  not 
What  you  can  find  in  Master  Walter,  Julia, 
To  be  so  fond  of  him  ! 

Jul.  He 's  fond  of  me. 
I  've  known  him  since  I  was  a  child.     E'en  then 
The  week  I  thought  a  weary,  heavy  one. 
That  brought  not  Master  Walter.     I  had  those 
About  me  then,  that  made  a  fool  of  me, 
As  children  oft  are  fooled ;  but  more  I  loved 
Good  Master  Walter's  lesson,  than  the  play 
With  which  they  'd  surfeit  me.     As  I  grew  up. 
More  frequent  Master  Walter  came,  and  more 
1  loved  to  see  him.     I  had  tutors  then. 
Men  of  great  skill  and  learning, — but  not  one 
That  taught  like  Master  Walter.     What  they  'd  show  me, 
And  I,  dull  as  I  was,  but  doubtful  saw, — 
A  word  from  Master  Walter  made  as  clear 
As  daylight !     When  my  schooling  days  were  o'er, — 
That 's  now  good  three  years  past — three  years — i  vow 
I  'm  twenty,  Helen  ! — well,  as  I  was  saying. 
When  I  had  done  with  school,  and  all  were  gone, 
Still  Master  Walter  came ;  and  still  he  comes, 
Summer  or  winter — frost  or  rain.     I  've  seen 
The  snow  upon  a  level  with  the  hedge, 
Yet  there  was  Master  Waiter  ! 


J 


YOUNG    LADIES'    EEADER.  21S 


Hel,  Who  comes  here  ? 
A  carriage,  and  a  gay  one, — who  alights  ? 
Pshaw !     Only  Master  Walter  !     What  see  you, 
Which  thus  repairs  the  arch  of  the  fair  brow, 
A  frown  was  like  to  spoil  % — A  gentleman ! 
One  of  our  town  kings !     Mark — how  say  you  now  1 
Would'st  be  a  town  queen,  Julia  ?     Which  of  us, 
I  wonder,  comes  he  for  1 

Jul.  For  neither  of  us  ; 
He's  Master  Walter's  clerk,  most  like. 

Hel  Most  like! 
Mark  him  as  he  comes  up  the  avenue  ; 
So  looks  a  clerk  !     A  clerk  has  such  a  gait ! 
So  does  a  clerk  dress,  Julia, — mind  his  hose — 
They  're  very  like  a  clerk's !     A  diamond  loop 
And  button,  note  you,  for  his  clerkship's  hat — 
O,  certainly  a  clerk !     A  velvet  cloak. 
Jerkin  of  silk,  and  doublet  of  the  same ; 
For  all  the  world  a  clerk  !     See,  Julia,  see 
How  Master  Walter  bows,  and  yields  him  place. 
That  he  may  first  go  in, — a  very  clerk  ! 
I  '11  learn  of  thee,  love,  when  I  'd  know  a  clSrk  ! 

Jul.  I  wonder  who  he  is. 

Hel.  Would'st  like  to  know  1 
Would'st,  for  a  fancy,  ride  to  town  with  him  ? 
I  prophesy  he  comes  to  take  thee  thither. 

Jul.  He  ne'er  takes  me  to  town.     N6  Helen,  n6 ; 
To  town  who  will — a  country  life  for  me ! 

Hel.  We '11  see! 

Questions. — 1.  What  rules  for  the  inflections  as  marked  in  the  8d 
paragraph  f     2.  Why  is  the   circumflex  employed  in  the  5th  para- 
graph from  the  last  ?    See  Rule  I.,  page  32.     What  adage  does  Julia 
refer  to,  on  page  211,  fourth  line  from  top  ?     Arts. — 
"  '  Tis  Education  forms  the  human  mind ; 
Just  08  the  twig  is  bent,  the  tree's  inclined.* 


214  SANDERS'    NEW    SERIES. 

EXERCISE    LXXII. 
SONG    OF  THE  SHIRT. 

THOMAS  HCOa. 

1.  With  fingers  weary  and  worn, 
With  eyelids  heavy  and  red, 

A  woman  sat,  in  unwomanly  rags. 

Plying  her  needle  and  thread, — 
Stitch!  stitch!  stitch! 
In  poverty,  hunger,  and  dirt. 

And  still,  with  a  voice  of  dolorous  pitch, 
She  sang  the  "  Song  of  the  Shirt." 

2.  "  Work  !  work  !  work  ! 
While  the  cock  is  crowing  aloof ! 

And  work — work — work. 
Till  the  stars  shine  through  the  roof! 
It 's  oh!  to  be  a  slave 

Along  with  the  barbarous  Turk, 
Where  woman  has  never  a  soul  to  save, 

If  this  is  Christian  work  ! 

3.  "  Work — work — work — 
Till  the  brain  begins  to  swim. 

Work — work — work. 
Till  the  eyes  are  heavy  and  dim  ! 
Seam,  and  gusset,  and  band, 
Band,  and  gusset,  and  seam, 

Till  over  the  buttons  I  fall  asleep, 
And  sew  them  on  in  a  dream  ! 

4.  "  Oh  !  men,  with  sisters  dear  ! 
Oh  !  men,  with  mothers  and  wives  I 

It  is  not  linen  you  're  wearing  out. 

But  human  creatures'  lives  ! 
Stitch — stitch — stitch, 

In  poverty,  hunger,  and  dirt. 
Sewing  at  once,  with  a  double  thread, 

A  shroud  as  well  as  a  shirts 


YOUNG     LADIES'    KEADEE.  216 

5.  "  But  why  do  I  talk  of  Death, 

That  Phantom  of  grisly  bone, 
I  hardly  fear  his  terrible  shape, 

It  seems  so  like  my  own — 

It  seems  so  like  my  own, 

Because  of  the  fasts  I  keep, 
Oh  God  !  that  bread  should  be  so  dear, 

And  flesh  and  blood  so  cheap ! 

6.  "  Work — work — work ! 
My  labor  never  flags  ; 

And  what  are  its  wages  1    A  bed  of  straw, 

A  crust  of  bread, — and  rags, — 
That  shatter'd  roof — and  this  naked  floor — 

A  table — a  broken  chair — 
And  a  wall  so  blank,  my  shadow  I  thank 

For  sometimes  falling  there  ! 

"  Work — work — work  ! 
From  weary  chime  to  chime! 

Work — work — work, 
As  prisoners  work  for  crime  ! 

Band,  and  gusset,  and  seam. 

Seam,  and  gusset,  and  band, 
Till  the  heart  is  sick,  and  the  brain  benumVd, 

As  well  as  the  weary  hand. 

8.       "  Work — work — ^work  ! 
In  the  dull  December  light, 

And  work — work — work. 
When  the  weather  is  warm  and  bright- 
While  underneath  the  eaves 

The  brooding  swallows  cling, 
As  if  to  show  me  their  sunny  backs. 

And  twit  me  with  the  Spring. 


216  SANDEKS'     NEW     SERIES, 


9.  "  Oh !  but  to  breathe  the  breath 

Of  the  cowslip  and  primrose  sweet — 
With  the  sky  above  my  head 

And  the  grass  beneath  my  feet , 
For  only  one  short  hour 

To  feel  as  I  used  to  feel, 
Before  I  knew  the  woes  of  want, 

And  the  walk  that  costs  a  meal ! 

10.  "  Oh  !  but  for  one  short  hour ! 

A  respite,  however  brief! 
No  blessed  leisure  for  Love  or  Hope, 

But  only  time  for  Grief! 
A  little  weeping  would  ease  my  heart, 

But  in  their  briny  bed 
My  tears  must  stop,  for  every  drop 

Hinders  needle  and  thread !" 

11.  With  fingers  weary  and  worn. 

With  eyelids  heavy  and  red, 
A  woman  sat,  in  unwomanly  rags. 

Plying  her  needle  and  thread — 
Stitch!  stitch!  stitch! 

In  poverty,  hunger,  and  dirt, 
And  still  with  a  voice  of  dolorous  pitch — 
Would  that  its  tone  could  reach  the  rich  !- 

She  sang  this  "  Song  of  the  Shirt." 


EXERCISE   LXXIII. 


1.  Or'-phe-us  was  one  of  the  eldest  of  the  Grecian  bards.  He  was  cele- 
brated for  the  melody  of  his  voice,  and  his  skill  in  playing  on  a  lyre 
with  seven  strings.  By  the  sweet  music  of  his  voice  and  of  his  lyre, 
he  is  fabled  to  have  drawn  after  him  rocks  and  trees,  to  have  tamed 
the  beasts  of  the  field,  and  even  to  have  calmed  the  violence  of  storma 
and  whirlwinds 


YOUNG    LADIES'   READER.  217 

2.  Am-phi'-on,  like  Orpheus,  was  among  the  eldest  of  Grecian  mu- 
sicians, lie  reigned  over  ancient  Thebes ;  and,  when  he  undertook 
to  surround  the  city  with  a  wall,  the  very  stones  are  said  to  have 
leaped  into  place  at  the  sound  of  liis  lyre,  and  formed  themselves 
into  walls. 

AN  ADDRESS   TO   AN   ARM-CHAIR,   NEWLY   CLAD. 

W.    SOMERVILLK. 

1.  My  dear  companion,  and  my  faithful  friend  !        * 
If  Orpheus^  taught  the  listening  oaks  to  bend  ; 

If  stones  and  rubbish,  at  Amphion's"  call, 
Danc'd  into  form,  and  built  the  Theban  wall ; 
Why  should'st  not  thou  attend  my  humble  lays 
And  hear  my  grateful  harp  resound  thy  praise  1 

2.  True,  thou  art  spruce  and  fine,  a  very  beau  ; 
But  what  are  trappings,  and  external  show  1 
To  real  worth  alone  I  make  my  court ; 

Knaves  are  my  scorn,  and  coxcombs  are  my  sport, 

3.  Once  I  beheld  thee  far  less  trim  and  gay  ; 
Ragged,  disjointed,  and  to  worms  a  prey  ; 
The  safe  retreat  of  every  lurking  mouse ; 
Derided,  shunned — the  lumber  of  my  house  ! 
Thy  robe,  how  changed  from  what  it  was  before ! 
Thy  velvet  robe,  which  pleas'd  my  sires  of  yore ! 
'Tis  thus  capricious  Fortune  wheels  us  round ; 
Aloft  we  mount — then  tumble  to  the  ground. 
Yet  grateful  then,  my  constancy  I  prov'd  ; 

1  know  thy  worth  ; — my  friend  in  rags  I  lov'd  ! 
I  lov'd  thee  more  ;  nor,  like  a  courtier,  spurn'd 
My  benefactor,  when  the  tide  was  turn'd. 

4.  With  conscious  shame,  yet  frankly,  I  confess, 
That  in  my  youthful  days — I  lov'd  thee  less. 
Where  vanity,  where  pleasure  call'd,  I  stray'd ; 
And  every  wayward  appetite  obey'd. 

10 


218  SANDEKS'    NEW    SEEIES. 

But  sage  experience  taught  me  how  to  prize 
Myself;  and  how,  this  world.    She  bade  me  rise 
To  nobler  flights,  regardless  of  a  race 
Of  factious  emmets  ;  pointed  where  to  place 
*  My  bliss,  and  lodg'd  me  in  thy  soft  embrace. 

5.  Here,  on  thy  yielding  down,  I  sit  secure  ; 
•And,  patiently,  what  Heaven  has  sent,  endure ;, 

From  all  the  futile  cares  of  business  free  ! 
Not  fond  of  life,  but  yet  content  to  be  : 
Here  mark  the  fleeting  hours  ;  regret  the  past ; 
And  seriously  prepare  to  meet  the  last. 

6.  So,  safe  on  shore,  the  pensioned  sailor  lies, 
And  all  the  malice  of  the  storm  defies  : 
With  ease  of  body  blest,  and  peace  of  mind, 
Pities  the  restless  crew  he  left  behind  ; 
While,  in  his  cell,  he  meditates  alone 

On  his  great  voyage,  to  the  world  unknown. 


EXERCISE    LXXIV. 


1.  An-thro-poph'-a-qi,  (anthropo,  man  and  phagi,  eat,)  man-eaters, 
or  cannibals. 

2.  Di-an'-a  was  the  goddess  of  hunting.  She  is  usually  represented 
as  a  maiden,  active,  vigorous,  and  handsome,  but  without  gentleness 
of  expression.  She  had  a  celebrated  temple  at  Ephesus.  See  Acts  of 
the  Apostles,  Chap,  xix.,  verses  27  and  28. 

3.  Spar'-tan,  pertaining  to  Sparta  or  Lacedremon,  a  cify  of  ancient 
Greece,  celebrated  for  the  martial  and  hardy  spirit  of  its  inhabitants. 

4.  Der'-vise,  (that  is,  poor,)  is  a  Persian  -word,  denoting,  among  tlie 
Mohammedans,  a  sort  of  Monk.  Being  strict  in  the  observance  of 
forms,  fastings,  and  various  acts  of  piety, — they  are  held  in  great 
respect. 

5.  Bonzes,  the  name  given  to  the  priests  of  the  religion  of  Fo,  in 
Eastern  Asia.  They  correspond,  in  character  and  customs,  to  monks 
and  dervises. 

6.  Car-thu'-6I-an  is  the  nam^^,  of  a  religious  order  founded  in  1086. 


YOUNG     LADIES'     KEADEK.  219 

They  practiced  the  greatest  abstinence,  wore  coarse  garments,  and 
lived  upon  vegetables  and  the  coarsest  bread. 

v.  Bac-cha-na'-li-an,  pertaining  to  the  festivals  of  Bacchus,  the 
god  of  wine,  which  were  celebrated  by  a  triumphal  procession, 
wherein  men  and  women  went  about  rioting,  dancing,  and  indulging 
in  all  sorts  of  licentious  extravagance. 

FASHION. 

MRS.    BAEBAULD. 

1.  To  break  the  shackles  of  oppression,  and  assert  the  na- 
tive rights  of  man,  is  esteemed  by  many  among  the  noblest 
efforts  of  heroic  virtue.  But  vain  is  the  possession  of  politi- 
cal liberty,  if  there  exists  a  tyrant  of  our  own  creation,  who, 
without  law  or  reason,  or  even  external  force,  exercises  over 
us  the  most  despotic  authority  ;  whose  jurisdiction  is  extended 
over  every  part  of  private  and  domestic  life,  controls  our 
pleasures,  fashions  our  garb,  cramps  our  motions,  fills  our 
lives  with  vain  cares  and  restless  anxiety.  The  worst  slavery 
is  that  which  we  voluntarily  impose  upon  ourselves ;  and  no 
chains  are  so  cumbrous  and  galling  as  those  which  we  are 
pleased  to  wear  by  way  of  grace  or  ornament. 

2.  Musing  upon  this  idea  gave  rise  to  the  following  dream, 
or  vision  ;  Methought  I  was  in  a  country  of  the  strangest  and 
most  singular  appearance  I  had  ever  beheld ;  the  rivers  were 
forced  into  jets  d'eau*  and  wasted  in  artificial  water-works ; 
the  lakes  were  fashioned  by  the  hand  of  art ;  the  roads  were 
sanded  with  spar  and  gold  dust ;  the  trees  all  bore  the  marks 
of  the  shears — they  were  bent  and  twisted  into  the  most 
whimsical  forms,  and  connected  together  by  festoons  of  rib- 
bon and  silk  fringe  ;  the  wild  flowers  were  transplanted  into 
vases  of  fine  china,  and  painted  with  artificial  white  and  red. 

3.  The  disposition  of  the  ground  was  full  of  fancy,  but 
grotesque  and  unnatural  in  the  highest  degree ;  ]^  was  all 
highly  cultivated,  and  bore  the  marks  of  wonderful  industry. 
But  among  its  various  prod  ictionsj  I  could  hardly  discern  one 
that  was  of  any  use. 

*  Spouts  of  water. 


220  SANDERS'  NEW    SERIES. 

4.  My  attention,  however,  was  soon  called  off  from  the 
scenes  of  inanimate  life,  by  the  view  of  the  inhabitants,  whose 
form  and  appearance  were  so  very  preposterous,  and,  indeed, 
so  unlike  any  thing  human,  that  I  fancied  myself  transported 
to  the  country  of 

"The  anthropophagi,*  and  men  whose  heads 
Do  grow  beneath  their  shoulders ;" 

for  the  heads  of  many  of  these  people  were  swelled  to  an  as- 
tonishing size,  and  seemed  to  be  placed  in  the  middle  of  their 
bodies. 

5.  Of  some,  the  ears  were  distended  till  they  hung  upon 
the  shoulders ;  and  of  others,  the  shoulders  were  raised  till 
they  niet  the  ears.  There  was  not  one  free  from  some  de- 
formity ;  or  monstrous  swelling,  in  one  part  or  other.  Some 
had  no  necks ;  others  had  necks  that  reached  almost  to  their 
waists ;  the  bodies  of  some  were  bloated  up  to  such  a  size 
that  they  could  scarcely  enter  a  pair  of  folding  doors ;  and 
others  had  suddenly  sprouted  up  to  such  a  disproportionate 
hight,  that  they  could  not  sit  upright  in  their  loftiest  carriages. 

6.  Many  shocked  me  with  the  appearance  of  being  nearly 
cut  in  two,  like  a  wasp ;  and  I  was  alarmed  at  the  sight  of  a 
few,  in  whose  faces,  otherwise  very  fair  and  healthy,  I  dis- 
covered an  eruption  of  black  spots,  which  I  feared  was  the 
fatal  sign  of  some  pestilential  disorder. 

7.  The  sight  of  these  various  and  uncouth  deformities  in- 
spired me  with  much  pity,  which,  however,  was  soon  changed 
into  disgust,  when  I  perceived,  with  great  surprise,  that  every 
one  of  these  unfortunate  men  and  women  was  exceedingly 
proud  of  his  or  her  own  peculiar  deformity,  and  endeavored 
to  attract  my  notice  to  it  as-  much  as  possible.  A  lady,  in 
particular^  who  had  a  huge  swelling  under  her  throat,  and 
which,  I  am  sure,  by  its  enormous  projection^  prevented  her 
from  seeing  the  path  she  walked  in,  brushed  by  me  with  an 
air  of  the  greatest  self  complacency,  and  asked  me,  if  she  was 
not  a  charming  creature. 


YOUNG    LADIES'  READER.  221 

8.  But,  hj  this  time,  I  found  myself  surrounded  by  an  im- 
mense crowd,  who  were  all  pressing  along  in  one  direction, 
and  I  perceived,  that  I  was  drawn  along  with  them  by  an  irre- 
sistible impulse,  which  grew  stronger  every  moment.  I  asked 
whither  we  were  hurrying  with  so  eager  steps,  and  was  told, 
that  we  were  going  to  the  court  of  Queen  l^ashion,  the  great 
Diana'^  whom  all  the  world  worshipeth.  I  would  have  re- 
tired, but  felt  myself  impelled  to  go  on,  though  without  being 
sensible  of  any  outward  force. 

9.  When  I  came  to  the  royal  presence,  I  was  astonished  at 
the  magnificence  which  I  saw  around  me.  The  queen  was 
sitting  on  a  throne  elegantly  fashioned  in  the  form  of  a  shell, 
and  inlaid  with  gems  and  mother-of-pearl.  It  was  supported 
by  a  chameleon,  formed  of  a  single  emerald. 

10.  She  was  dressed  in  a  light  robe  of  changeable  silk, 
which  fluttered  about  her  in  a  profusion  of  fantastic  folds,  that 
imitated  the  form  of  clouds,  and,  like  them,  were  continually 
changing  their  appearance.  In  one  hand  she  held  a  rouge- 
box,  and  in  the  other,  one  of  those  optical  glasses  which  dis- 
tort figures  in  length  or  in  breadth,  according  to  the  position, 
in  which  they  are  held. 

11.  At  the  foot  of  the  throne  was  displayed  a  profusion 
of  the  richest  productions  of  every  quarter  of  the  globe, — 
tributes  from  land  and  sea,  from  every  animal  and  plant ; 
perfumes,  sparkling  stones,  drops  of  pearl,  chains  of  gold, 
webs  of  the  finest  linen,  wreaths  of  flowers,  the  produce  of 
art,  which  vied  with  the  most  delicate  productions  of  nature  ; 
forests  of  feathers,  waving  their  brilliant  colors  in  the  air  and 
canopying  the  throne ;  glossy  silks,  networii  of  lace,  silvery 
ermine,  soft  folds  of  vegetable  wool,  rustling  paper,  and  shin- 
ing spangles;  the  whole  intermixed  with  pendants  and 
streamers  of  the  gayest  tinctured  ribbon. 

12.  All  these  together  made  so  brilliant  an  appearance, 
that  my  eyes  were  at  first  dazzled ;  and  it  was  some  time, 
before  I  recovered  myself  enough  to  observe  the  ceremonial 
of  the  court.     Near  the  throne,  and  its  chief  supports,  stood 


H^ 


222  SANDERS'   NEW    SERIES. 

the  queen's  two  prime  ministers, — Caj^rice  on  one  side,  and 
Vanity  on  the  other. 

13.  Two  officers  seemed  chiefly  busy  among  the  attendants. 
One  of  them  was  a  man  with  a  pair  of  shears  in  his  hand, 
and  a  goose  by  his  side, — a  mysterious  emblem,  of  which  I 
could  not  fathom  the  meaning  ;  he  sat  cross-legged,  like  the 
great  Lama*  of  the  Tartars.  He  was  busily  employed  in 
cutting  out  coats  and  garments, — not,  however,  like  Dorcas,f 
for  the  poor ; — nor,  indeed,  did  they  seem  intended  for  any 
mortal  whatever, — so  ill  were  they  adapted  to  the  shape  of 
the  human  body. 

14.  Some  of  the  garments  were  extravagantly  large,  others 
as  preposterously  small ;  of  others,  it  was  difficult  to  guess 
to  what  part  of  the  person  they  were  meant  to  be  applied. 
Here  were  coverings,  which  did  not  cover  ;  ornaments,  which 
disfigured  ;  and  defenses  against  the  weather,  more  slight  and 
delicate  than  what  they  were  meant  to  defend ;  but  all  were 
eagerly  caught  up,  without  distinction,  by  the  crowd  of  vo- 
taries who  were  waiting  to  receive  them. 

15.  The  other  officer  was  dressed  in  a  white  succinct  linen 
garment,  like  a  priest  of  the  lower  order.  He  moved  in  a 
cloud  of  incense  more  highly  scented  than  the  breezes  of  Ara- 
bia ;  he  carried  a  tuft  of  the  whitest  down  of  the  swan  in  one 
hand,  and,  in  the  other,  a  small  iron  instrument,  heated  red- 
hot,  which  he  brandished  in  the  air.  It  was  with  infinite  con- 
cern, I  beheld  the  graces  bound  at  the  foot  of  the  throne,  and 
obliged  to  officiate  as  handmaids,  under  the  direction  of  these 
two  officers. 

16.  I  now  began  to  inquire  by  what  laws  this  queen  gov- 
erned her  subjects,  but  soon  found  her  administration  was 
that  of  the  most  arbitrary  tyrant  ever  known.  Her  laws 
are  exactly  the  reverse  of  those  of  the  Medes  and  Persians ; 
for  they  are  changed  every  day  and  every  hour ;  and,  what 
makes  the  matter  still  more  perplexing,  they  are  in  no  written 

*  The  sovereign  pontiflf,  or  rather  the  god  of  the  Asiatic  Tartars, 
f  See  Acts,  chap,  ix.,  verse  39. 


YOUNG     LADIES'     READER.  223 

code,  nor  ever  made  public  by  proclamation ;  they  are  only 
promulgated  by  whispers,  an  obscure  sign,  or  turn  of  the  eye, 
which  those  only  who  have  the  happiness  to  stand  near  the 
queen,  can  catch  with  any  degree  of  precision.  Yet  the  small- 
est transgression  of  the  laws  is  severely  punished ;  not  indeed 
by  fines  or  imprisonment,  but  by  a  sort  of  interdict,  which 
operated  in  such  a  manner,  that  no  one  would  eat,  drink,  or 
associate  with  the  forlorn  culprit,  and  he  was  almost  deprived 
of  the  use  of  fire  and  water. 

17.  This  difficulty  of  discovering  the  will  of  the  goddess 
occasioned  so  much  crowding  to  be  near  the  throne, — such 
jostling  and  elbowing  of  one  another, — that  I  was  glad  to  re- 
tire and  observe  what  I  could  among  the  scattered  crowd, 
and  the  first  thing  I,  took  notice  of,  was  various  instruments 
of  torture  which  every  where  met  my  eyes.  Torture  has,  in 
most  other  governments  of  Europe,  been  abolished  by  the 
mild  spirit  of  the  times,  but  it  reigns  here  in  full  force  and 
terror. 

18.  I  saw  officers  of  this  cruel  court  employed  in  boring 
holes,  with  red-hot  wires,  in  the  ears,  nose,  and  various  parts 
of  the  body,  and  then  distending  them  with  the  weight  of 
metal  chains,  or  stones,  cut  into  a  variety  of  shapes :  some 
had  invented  a  contrivance  for  cramping  the  feet  in  such  a 
manner,  that  many  are  lamed  by  it  for  their  whole  lives. 
Others,  I  saw,  slender  and  delicate  in  their  form,  and  natur- 
ally nimble  as  the  young  antelopefKvho  were  obliged  to  carry 
constantly  about  with  them  a  cumbrous,  unwieldly  machine, 
of  a  pyramidal  form,  several  ells  in  circumference. 

19.  But  the  most  common,  and  one  of  the  worst  instru- 
ments of  torture,  was  a  small  machine  armed  with  fishbone 
and  ribs  of  steel,  wide  at  the  top,  but  extremely  small  at 
the  bottom.  In  this  detestable  invention  the  queen  orders 
the  bodies  of  her  female  subjects  to  be  inclosed  ;  it  is  then, 
by  means  of  silk  cords,  drawn  closer  and  closer  at  intervals, 
until  the  unhappy  victims  can  scarcely  breathe,  and  have 
found  the  exact  point  that  can  be  borne  without  fainting, — 


2M  SAN  DEES'    NEW    SERIES. 

"which,  however,  not  unfrequently  happens.  The  flesh  is  often 
excoriated,  and  the  very  ribs  bent,  by  this  cruel  process. 
Yet,  what  astonished  me  more  than  all  the  rest,  these  suffer- 
ings are  borne  with  a  degree  of  fortitude  which,  in  a  better 
cause,  would  immortalize  a  hero,  or  canonize  a  saint. 

20.  The  Spartan^  who  suffered  the  fox  to  eat  into  his  vitals, 
^did  not  bear  pain  with  greater  resolution ;  and,  as  the  Spartan 

mothers  brought  their  children  to  be  scourged  at  the  altar  of 
Diana,  so  do  the  mothers  here  bring  their  children, — and 
chiefly  those  whose  tender  sex,  one  would  suppose,  excused 
them  from  such  exertions — and  early  inure  them  to  this  cruel 
discipline.  But  neither  Spartan,  nor  Dervise,*  nor  Bonze,* 
nor  Carthusian"  monk,  ever  exercised  more  unrelenting  se- 
verities over  their  bodies,  than  these  young  zealots ;  indeed, 
the  first  lesson  they  are  taught,  is  a  surrender  of  their  own 
inclinations,  and  an  implicit  obedience  to  the  commands  of 
the  Goddess. 

21.  But  they  have,  besides,  a  more  solemn  kind  of  dedica- 
tion, something  similar  to  the  rite  of  confirmation.  When  a 
young  woman  approaches  the  marriageable  age,  she  is  led  to 
the  altar ;  her  hair,  which  before  fell  loosely  about  her  shoul- 
ders, is  tied  up  in  a  tress ;  sweet  oils  drawn  from  roses  and 
spices  are  poured  upon  it ;  she  is  involved  in  a  cloud  of 
scented  dust,  and  invested  with  ornaments,  under  which  she 
can  scarcely  move.  After  this  solemn  ceremony,  which  is 
generally  concluded  by  a  (Jfcice  round  the  altar,  the  damsel 
is  obliged  to  a  still  stricter  conformity  than  before  to  the 
laws  and  customs  of  the  court,  and  any  deviation  from  them, 
is  severely  punished. 

22.  The  courtiers  of  Alexander,  it  is  said,  flattered  him  by 
carrying  their  heads  on  one  side,  because  he  had  the  misfor- 
tune to  have  a  wry  neck ;  but  all  adulation  is  poor,  compared 
to  what  is  practiced  in  this  court.  Sometimes  the  queen  will 
lisp  and  stammer;  and  then  none  of  hor  attendants  can 
"  speak  plain ;"  sometimes  she  chooses  to  tjtter  as  she  walks, 
and  then  they  are  seized  with  sudden  lameness.     According 


YOUNG    LADIES»     EEADER.  225 

as  she  appears  half-undressed,  or  vailed  from  head  to  foot, 
her  subjects  become  a  procession  of  nuns,  or  a  troop  of  Bac- 
chanalian' nymphs.  I  could  not  help  observing,  however,  that 
those  who  stood  at  the  greatest  distance  from  the  throne, 
were  the  most  extravagant  in  their  imitations. 


EXERCISE  LXXV. 


1.  Soo'-EA-TE8,  the  most  eminent  of  the  Grecian  philosophers  for 
wisdom  and  virtue,  was  born  B.  C.  4*70. 

THE   MOUNTAIN   OF  MISERIES. 

ADDKON. 

1.  It  is  a  celebrated  thought  of  Socrates,^  that,  if  all  the 
misfortunes  of  mankind  were  cast  into  a  public  stock,  in  or- 
der to  be  equally  distributed  among  the  whole  species,  those 
who  now  think  themselves  the  most  unhappy,  would  prefer 
the  share  they  are  already  possessed  of,  before  that  which 
would  fall  to  them  by  such  a  division.  Horace  has  carried 
this  thought  a  great  deal  further,  which  implies,  that  the 
hardships  or  misfortunes  we  lie  under,  are  more  easy  to  us 
than  those  of  any  other  person  would  be,  in  case  we  could  ex- 
change conditions  with  him. 

2.  As  I  was  ruminating  upon  these  two  remarks,  and  seat- 
ed in  my  elbow-chair,  I  insensibly  fell  asleep ;  when,  on  a 
Sudden,  methought  there  was  a  proclamation  made  by  Jupi- 
ter, that  every  mortal  should  bring  in  his  griefs  and  calami- 
ties, and  throw  them  together  in  a  heap.  There  was  a  large 
plain  appointed  for  this  purpose.  I  took  my  stand  in  the 
center  of  it,  and  saw,  with  a  great  deal  of  pleasure,  the  whole 
human  species,  marching  one  after  another,  and  throwing 
down  their  several  loads,  which  immediately  grew  up  into  a 
prodigious  mountain,  that  seemed  to  rise  above  the  clouds. 

3.  There  was  a  certain  lady,  of  thin,  airy  shape,  who  was 
very  active  in  this  solemnity.  She  carried  a  magnifying-glass 
in  one  of  her  hands,  and  was  clothed  in  a  loose,  flowing  robe, 

10* 


226  SANDEKS'    NEW    SEEIES. 

embroidered  with  several  figures  of  fiends  and  specters,  that 
discovered  themselves  in  a  thousand  chimerical  shapes,  as  her 
garments  hovered  in  the  wind.  There  was  something  wild 
and  distracted  in  her  looks.  Her  name  was  Fancy.  She  led 
up  every  mortal  to  the  appointed  place,  after  having  very  offi- 
ciously assisted  him  in  making  up  his  pack,  and  laying  it  upon 
his  shoulders.  My  heart  melted  within  me,  to  see  my  fellow- 
creatures  groaning  under  their  respective  burdens,  and  to  con 
sider  that  prodigious  bulk  of  human  calamities  which  lay  be- 
fore me. 

4.  There  were,  however,  several  persons  who  gave  me 
great  diversion  upon  this  occasion.  I  observed  one  bringing 
in  a  parcel,  very  carefully  concealed  under  an  old  embroider- 
ed cloak,  which,  upon  his  throwing  it  into  the  heap,  I  discover- 
ed to  be  poverty.  Another,  after  a  great  deal  of  puffing, 
threw  down  his  luggage,  which,  upon  examining,  I  found  to  be 
his  wife. 

5.  There  were  multitudes  of  lovers,  saddled  with  very 
whimsical  burdens,  composed  of  darts  and  flames ;  but,  what 
was  very  odd,  though  they  sighed  as  if  their  hearts  would 
break  under  these  bundles  of  calamities,  they  could  not  per- 
suade themselves  to  cast  them  into  the  heap,  when  they  came 
up  to  it ;  but,  after  a  few  faint  efforts,  shook  their  heads,  and 
marched  away  as  heavy-laden  as  they  came.  I  saw  multitudes 
of  old  women  throw  down  their  wrinkles,  and  several  young 
ones  who  stripped  themselves  of  a  tawny  skin.  There  were 
very  great  heaps  of  red  noses,  large  lips,  and  rusty  teeth. 

6.  The  truth  of  it  is,  I  was  surprised  to  see  the  greatest 
part  of  the  mountain  made  up  of  bodily  deformities.  Ob- 
serving one  advancing  toward  the  heap  with  a  larger  cargo 
than  ordinary  upon  his  back,  I  found,  upon  his  near  approach, 
that  it  was  only  a  natural  hump,  which  he  disposed  of,  with 
great  joy  of  heart,  among  this  collection  of  human  miseries. 
There  were  likewise  distempers  of  all  sorts ;  though  I  could 
not  but  observe,  that  there  were  many  more  imaginary  than 
real. 


M 


YOUNa     LADIES'     READER.  227 

7.  One  little  packet  I  could  not  but  take  notice  of,  which 
was  a  complication  of  all  the  diseases  incident  to  human  na- 
ture, and  was  in  the  hand  of  a  great  many  fine  people  ;  this 
was  called  the  spleen.  But,  what  most  of  all  surprised  me, 
was  a  remark  I  made,  that  there  was  not  a  single  vice  or  folly 
thrown  into  the  whole  heap  ;  at  which  I  was  very  much  as- 
tonished, having  concluded  within  myself,  that  every  one 
would  take  this  opportunity  of  getting  rid  of  his  passions, 
prejudices,  and  frailties. 

8.  I  took  notice,  in  particular,  of  a  very  profligate  fellow, 
who,  I  did  not  question,  came  loaded  with  his  crimes ;  but, 
upon  searching  into  his  bundle,  I  found  that,  instead  of  throw- 
ing his  guilt  from  him,  he  had  only  laid  down  his  memory. 
He  was  followed  by  another  worthless  rogue,  who  flung  away 
his  modesty,  instead  of  his  ignorance. 

9.  When  the  whole  race  of  mankind  had  thus  cast  their 
burdens,  the  Phantom  which  had  been  so  busy  on  this  occa- 
sion, seeing  me  an  idle  spectator  of  what  passed,  approached 
toward  me.  I  grew  uneasy  at  her  presence,  when,  of  a  sud- 
den, she  held  her  magnifying-glass  full  before  my  eyes.  I  no 
sooner  saw  my  face  in  it,  than  I  was  startled  at  the  shortness  of 
it,  which  now  appeared  to  me  in  its  utmost  aggravation. 
The  immoderate  breadth  of  the  features  made  me  very  much 
out  of  humor  with  my  own  countenance ;  upon  which  I  threw 
it  from  me  like  a  mask.  It  happened,  very  luckily,  that  one 
who  stood  by  me  had  just  before  thrown  down  his  visage, 
which,  it  seems,  was  too  long  for  him.  It  was,  indeed,  ex- 
tended to  a  most  shameful  length  ;  I  believe  the  very  chin 
was,  modestly  speaking,  as  long  as  my  whole  face. 

10.  We  had  both  of  us  an  opportunity  of  mending  our- 
selves ;  and  all  the  contributions  being  now  brought  in,  every 
man  was  at  liberty  to  exchange  his  misfortunes  for  those  of 
another  person.  I  saw,  with  unspeakable  pleasure,  the  whole 
species  thus  delivered  from  its  sorrows  ;  though,  at  the  same 
time,  as  we  stood  round  the  heap  and  surveyed  the  several 
materials  of  which  it  was  composed,  there  was  scarcely  a  mor- 


228  SANDERS'     NEW     SERIES. 

tal  in  this  vast  multitude  who  did  not  discover  what  he 
thought  pleasures  and  blessings  of  life,  and  wondered  how 
the  owners  of  them  ever  came  to  look  upon  them  as  burdens 
and  grievances. 

1  ] .  As  we  were  regarding  very  attentively  this  confusion 
of  miseries,  this  chaos  of  calamity,  Jupiter  issued  out  a  sec- 
ond proclamation,  that  every  one  was  now  at  liberty  to  ex- 
change his  affliction,  and  to  return  to  his  habitation  with  any 
such  bundle  as  should  be  allotted  to  him.  Upon  this,  Fancy 
began  again  to  bestir  herself,  and  parceling  out  the  whole 
heap,  with  incredible  activity,  recommended  to  every  one  his 
particular  packet. 

•  12.  The  hurry  and  confusion  at  this  time  was  not  to  be  ex- 
pressed. Some  observations  which  I  made  upon  the  occa- 
sion, I  shall  communicate  to  the  public :  A  poor  galley- 
slave,  who  had  thrown  down  his  chains,  took  up  the  gout  in- 
stead ;  but  made  such  wry  faces,  that  one  might  easily  per- 
ceive he  was  no  great  gainer  by  the  bargain.  It  was  pleasant 
enough  to  see  the  several  exchanges  that  were  made,  for  sick- 
ness against  poverty,  hunger  against  want  of  appetite,  and 
ease  against  pain. 

13.  The  female  world  were  busy  among  themselves,  in 
bartering  for  features  :  one  was  trucking  a  lock  of  gray  hairs 
for  a  carbuncle  ;  another  was  making  over  a  short  waist  for  a 
pair  of  round  shoulders ;  and  a  third  cheapening  a  bad  face 
for  a  lost  reputation ;  but,  on  all  these  occasions,  there  was 
not  one  of  them  who  did  not  think  the  new  blemish,  as  soon 
as  she  got  it  into  her  possession,  much  more  disagreeable  than 
the  old  one.  I  made  the  same  observation  on  every  other 
misfortune  or  calamity  which  every  one  in  the  assembly 
brought  upon  himself,  in  lieu  of  wliat  he  had  parted  with ; 
whether  it  be  that  all  the  evils  which  befall  us  are  in  some 
measure  suited  and  proportioned  to  our  strength,  or  that  any 
evil  becomes  more  supportable  by  our  being  accustomed  to 
it,  I  shall  not  determine. 

14.  I  must  not  omit  my  own  particular  adventure.     My 


YOUNG  -LADIES'    EEADER.  229 

friend  with  a  long  visage  had  no  sooner  taken  upon  him  my 
short  face,  but  he  made  such  a  grotesque  figure  in  it,  that,  as 
I  looked  upon  him,  I  could  not  forbear  laughing  at  myself, 
insomuch  that  I  put  my  own  face  out  of  countenance.  The 
poor  gentleman  was-  so  sensible  of  the  ridicule,  that  I  found 
he  was  ashamed  of  what  he  had  done  :  on  the  other  side,  I 
found  that  I  myself  had  no  great  reason  to  triumph  ;  for,  as 
I  bent  to  touch  my  forehead,  I  missed  the  place,  and  clapped 
my  finger  upon  my  upper  lip  !  Besides,  as  my  nose  was  ex- 
ceedingly prominent,  I  gave  it  two  or  three  unlucky  knocks, 
as  I  was  playing  my  hand  about  my  face,  and  aiming  at  some 
other  part  of  it.  I  saw  two  other  gentlemen  by  me,  who 
were  in  the  same  ridiculous  circumstances. 

15.  The  heap  was  at  last  distributed  among  the  two  sexes, 
who  made  a  most  piteous  sight,  as  they  wandered  up  and 
down  under  the  pressure  of  their  several  burdens.  The 
whole  plain  was  filled  with  murmurs  and  complaints,  groans 
an^  lamentations.  Jupiter,  at  length,  taking  compassion  on 
the  poor  mortals,  ordered  them  a  second  time  to  lay  down 
their  loads,  with  a  design  to  give  every  one  his  own  again. 
They  discharged  themselves  with  a  great  deal  of  pleasure ; 
after  which,  the  Phantom  who  had  led  them  into  such  gross 
delusions,  was  commanded  to  disappear. 

16.  There  was  sent  in  her  stead  a  goddess  of  a  quite  differ- 
ent figure :  her  motions  were  steady  and  composed,  and  her 
aspect  serious,  but  cheerful.  She  every  now  and  then  cast 
her  eyes  toward  heaven,  and  fixed  them  upon  Jupiter.  Her 
name  was  Patience.  She  had  no  sooner  placed  herself  by  the 
mount  of  sorrows,  but,  what  I  thought  very  remarkable,  the 
whole  heap  sunk  to  such  a  degree,  that  it  did  not  appear  a 
third  part  as  big  as  it  was  before.  She  afterwards  returned 
every  man  his  own  proper  calamity,  and,  teaching  him  how 
to  bear  it  in  the  most  commodious  manner,  he  marched  off 
with  it  contentedly,  being  very  well  pleased,  that  he  had  not 
been  left  to  his  own  choice,  as  to  the  kind  of  evils  which  fell 
to  his  lot.  0 


280  SANDERS'     NEW     SERIES. 

17.  Besides  the  several  pieces  of  morality  to  be  drawn  out 
of  this  vision,  I  learned  from  it  never  to  repine  at  my  own 
misfortunes,  or  to  envy  the  happiness  of  another,  since  it  is 
impossible  for  any  man  to  form  a  right  judgment  of  his 
neighbor's  sufferings ;  for  which  reason,  also,  I  have  deter- 
mined never  to  think  too  lightly  of  another's  complaints,  but 
to  regard  the  sorrows  of  my  fellow-creatures  with  sentiments 
of  humanity  and  compassion. 


EXERCISE    LXXVI. 
PRIDE. 

ALEXANDER   POPE. 

1       Of  all  the  causes  which  conspire  to  blind 
Man's  erring  judgment,  and  misguide  the  mind, 
What  the  weak  head  with  strongest  bias  rules, 
Is  Pride, — the  never-failing  vice  of  fools. 
Whatever  Nature  has  in  worth  denied, 
She  gives  in  large  recruits  of  needful  Pride  ! 

3.      For,  as  in  bodies,  thus  in  souls,  we  find 

"V^hat  wants  in  blood  and  spirits,  swell'd  with  wind  : 
Pride,  where  Wit  fails,  steps  in  to  our  defense, 
And  fills  up  all  the  mighty  void  of  sense. 
If  once  right  reason  drives  that  cloud  away, 
Truth  breaks  upon  us  with  resistless  day. 
Trust  not  yourself;  but,  your  defects  to  know, 
Make  use  of  every  friend,  and  every  foe. 

3.      A  little  learning  is  a  dangerous  thing  ! 
Drink  deep,  or  taste  not  the  Pierian  spring : 
There  shallow  draughts  intoxicate  the  brain. 
And  drinking  largely  sobers  us  again. 
Fired  at  first  sight  with  what  the  Muse  imparts, 
In  fearless  youth  we  tei||pt  the  hights  of  Arts, 


YOUNG     LADIES'     READER.  231 


While,  from  the  bounded  level  of  our  mind, 
Short  views  we  take,  nor  see  the  lengths  behind ; 
But,  more  advanced,  behold  with  strange  surprise 
New  distant  scenes  of  endless  science  rise  ! 

So,  pleased  at  first,  the  towering  Alps  we  try, 
Mount  o'er  the  vales,  and  seem  to  tread  the  sky  ; 
Th'  eternal  snows  appear  already  past. 
And  the  first  clouds  and  mountains  seem  the  last : 
But,  those  attained,  we  tremble  to  survey 
The  growing  labors  of  the  lengthened  way ; 
Th'  increasing  prospect  tires  our  wandering  eyes, 
Hills  peep  o'er  hills,  and  Alps  on  Alps  arise ! 


EXERCISE    LXXVII. 
JENNY  LIND'S   GREETING   TO   AMERICA. 

BAYARD   TAriiOK. 

1.  I  greet,  with  a  full  heart,  the  Land  of  the  West, 

Whose  banner  of  stars  o'er  the  world  is  unrolled  ; 
Whose  empire  o'ershadows  Atlantic's  wide  breast, 

And  opes  to  the  sunset  its  gateway  of  gold ! 
The  land  of  the  mountain,  the  land  of  the  lake. 

And  rivers  that  roll  in  magnificent  tide, — 
Where  the  sons  of  the  mighty  from  slumber  awake, 

iVnd  hallow  the  soil  for  whose  freedom  they  died ' 

2.  Thou  cradle  of  empire!  though. wide  be  the  foam 

That  severs  the  land  of  my  fathers  and  thee, 
I  hear,  from  thy  bosom,  the  welcome  of  home, 

Eor  song  has  a  home  in  the  hearts  of  the  free  ! 
And  long  as  thy  waters  shall  gleam  in  the  sun, 

And  long  as  thy  heroes  remember  their  scars, 
Be  the  hands  of  thy  children  united  as  one. 

And  peace  shed  her  light  on  thy  banner  of  stars. 


232  SANDERS'    NEW    SERIES, 


EXERCISE    LXXVIII. 
VICTORIA'S   TEARS.* 

ELIZABETH  B.  BROWNING. 

1.  O  maiden  !  heir  of  kings ! 
A  king  has  left  his  place ; 

The  majesty  of  Death  has  swept 

All  other  from  his  face  ! 
And  thou,  upon  thy  mother's  breast, 

No  longer  lean  adown, 
But  take  the  Glory  for  the  Rest, 
And  rule  the  land  that  loves  thee  best. 

She  heard  and  wept, — 

She  wept  to  wear  a  crown  ! 

2.  They  decked  her  courtly  halls ; 
They  reined  her  hundred  steeds  ; 

They  shouted  at  her  palace  gate, 
(/)     "  A  noble  Queen  succeeds  !" 

Her  name  has  stirred  the  mountain's  sleep, 

Her  praise  has  filled  the  town. 
And  mourners  God  had  stricken  deep, 
Looked  hearkening  up,  and  did  not  weep. 

Alone  she  wept. 

Who  wept  to  wear  a  crown  ! 

3.  She  saw  no  purples  shine. 

For  tears  had  dimmed  her  eyes  ; 
She  only  knew  her  childhood's  flowers 

Were  happier  pageantries ! 
And  while  her  heralds  played  their  part, 

Those  million  shouts  to  drown, — 

*  When  Queen  Victoria  was  informed  of  her  accession  to  the 
throne,  on  the  death  of  her  uncle,  she  was  so  affected  with  the  con- 
sciousness of  the  heavy  responsibilities  which  had  in  a  moment  fallen 
\ipon  her,  that  she  wept 


YOUNG     LADIES'     READER.  283 

"  God  save  the  Queen,"  from  hill  to  mart, 
She  heard  through  all  her  beating  heart, 

And  turned  and  wept — 

She  wept  to  wear  a  crown  ! 

4.  God  save  thee,  weeping  Queen  ! 
Thou  shalt  be  well  beloved ! 

The  tyrant's  scepter  can  not  move 

As  those  pure  tears  have  moved  ! 
The  nature  in  thine  eyes  we  see 

That  tyrants  can  not  own, — 
The  love  that  guardeth  liberties  ! 
Strange  blessing  on  the  nation  lies, 

Whose  sovereign  wept — 

Yea,  wept  to  wear  a  crown  ! 

5.  God  bless  thee,  weeping  Queen  ! 
With  blessing  more  divine  ! 

And  fill  with  happier  love  than  earth's 

That  tender  heart  of  thine ! 
That  when  the  thrones  of  earth  shall  be 

As  low  as  graves  brought  down, — 
A  pierced  hand  may  give  to  thee 
The  crown  which  angels  shout  to  see ! 

Thou  wilt  'not  weep 

To  wear  that  heavenly  crown  ! 


EXERCISE    LXXIX. 

FEMALE   PATRIOTISM. 

HOOK. 

1.  Coriolanus  was  a  distinguished  Roman  Senator  and 
general,  who  had  rendered  eminent  services  to  the  Republic. 
But  these  services  were  no  security  agair.st  envy  and  popular 
prejudice.     He  was,  at  length,  treated  with  great  severity 


234  SANDERS'   NEW    SERIES. 

and  lEgratitude,  by  the  senate  and  people  of  Rome ;  and 
obliged  to  leave  his  country  to  preserve  his  life.  Of  a 
haughty  and  indignant  spirit,  he  resolved  to  avenge  himself; 
and,  with  this  view,  applied  to  the  Volscians,  the  enemies  of 
Rome,  and  tendered  them  his  services  against  his  native 
country. 

2.  The  offer  was  cordially  embraced,  and  Coriolanus  was 
made  general  of  the  Volscian  army.  He  recovered  from 
the  Romans  all  the  towns  they  had  taken  from  the  Volsci ; 
carried  by  assault  several  cities  in  Latium  ;  and  led  his 
troops  within  five  miles  of  the  city  of  Rome.  After  several 
unsuccessful  embassies  from  the  Senate,  all  hope  of  pacifying 
the  injured  exile,  appeared  to  be  extinguished ;  and  the  sole 
business  of  Rome  was  to  prepare,  with  the  utmost  diligence, 
for  sustaining  a  siege. 

3.  The  young  and  able-bodied  men  had  instantly  the  guard 
of  the  gates  and  trenches  assigned  to  them ;  while  those  of 
the  veterans  who,  though  exempt  by  their  age  from  bearing 
arms,  were  yet  capable  of  service,  undertook  the  defense  of 
the  ramparts.  The  women,  in  the  mean  while,  terrified  by 
these  movements,  and  the  impending  danger,  into  a  neglect 
of  their  wonted  decorum,  ran  tumultuously  from  their  houses 
to  the  temples.  Every  sanctuary,  and  especially  the  temple 
of  Jupiter  Capitolinus,*  resounded  with  the  wailings  and 
loud  supplications  of  women,  prostrate  before  the  statues  of 
their  divinities. 

4.  In  this  general  consternation  and  distress,  Valeria  (sister 
of  the  famous  Valerius  Poplicola),  as  if  moved  by  a  divine 
impulse,  suddenly  took  her  stand  upon  the  top  of  the  steps 
of  the  temple  of  Jupiter,  assembled  the  women  about  her, 
and,  having  first  exhorted  them  not  to  be  terrified  by  the 
greatness  of  the  present  danger,  confidently  declared,  "  That 
there  was  yet  hope  for  the  republic ;  that  its  preservation  de- 
pended upon  them,  and  upon  their  performance  of  the  duty 
they  owed  their  country." 

*  So  called  from  hia  temple  on  Mouut  Capitolinus. 


YOUNG     LADIES'     READER.  235 


5.  "  Alas  !"  cried  one  of  the  qjpmpany,  "  what  resource  can 
there  be  in  the  weakness  of  wretched  women,  when  our 
bravest  men,  our  ablest  warriors  themselves,  despair  ?"  "  It 
is  not  by  the  sword,  nor  by  strength  of  arms,"  replied  Vale- 
ria, "  that  we  are  to  prevail ;  these  belong  not  to  our  sex. 
Soft  moving  words  must  be  our  weapons  and  our  force.  Let 
us  all,  in  our  mourning  attire,  and  accompanied  by  our  chil- 
dren, go  and  entreat  Veturia,  the  mother  of  Coriolanus,  to 
intercede  with  her  son  for  our  common  country.  Veturia's 
prayers  will  bend  his  soul  to  pity.  Haughty  and  implacable 
as  he  has  hitherto  appeared,  he  has  not  a  heart  so  cruel  and 
obdurate  as  not  to  relent,  when  he  shall  see  his  mother,  his 
revered,  his  beloved  mother,  a  weeping  suppliant  at  his 
feet." 

6.  This  motion  being  universally  applauded,  the  whole 
train  of  women  took  their  way  to  Veturia's  house.  Her  son's 
wife,  Volumnia,  who  was  sitting  with  her  when  they  arrived, 
and  greatly  surprised  at  their  coming,  hastily  asked  them  the 
meaning  of  so  extraordinary  an  appearance.  "  What  is  it," 
said  she,  "  what  can  be  the  motive  that  has  brought  so  numer- 
ous a  company  of  visitors  to  this  house  of  sorrow  V 

7.  Valeria  then  addressed  herself  to  the  mother  :  "  It  is  to 
you,  Veturia,  that  these  women  have  recourse  in  the  extreme 
peril,  with  which  they  and  their  children  are  threatened.  They 
entreat,  implore,  conjure  you  to  compassionate  their  distress, 
and  the  distress  of  our  common  country.  Suffer  not  Rome 
to  become  a  prey  to  the  Volsci,  and  our  enemies  to  triumph 
over  our  liberty.  Go  to  the  camp  of  Coriolanus  ;  take  with 
you  Volumnia  and  her  two  sons  ;  let  that  excellent  wife  join 
her  intercession  to  yours.  Permit  these  women,  with  their 
children,  to  accompany  you  :  they  will  all  cast  themselves  at 
his  feet.  O  Veturia,  conjure  him  to  grant  peace  to  his  fellow- 
citizens  ! 

8.  "  Caase  not  to  beg  till  you  have  obtained.  So  good  a 
man  can  never  withstand  your  tears :  our  only  hope  is  in 
you.     Come,  then  Veturia ;  the  danger  presses  ;  you  have  no 


236  SANDERS      NEW    SERIES. 

time  for  deliberation  ;  the  e^jjterprise  is  worthy  of  your  vir- 
tue ;  Heaven  will  crown  it  with  success ;  Rome  shall  once 
more  owe  its  preservation  to  our  sex.  You  will  justly  ac- 
quire to  yourself  an  immortal  fame,  and  have  the  pleasure  to 
make  every  one  of  us  a  sharer  in  your  glory." 

9.  Veturia,  after  a  short  silence,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  an- 
swered :  "  Weak,  indeed,  is  the  foundation  of  your  hope, 
Valeria,  when  you  place  it  in  the  aid  of  two  miserable  wo- 
men. We  are  not  wanting  in  affection  to  our  country,  nor 
need  we  any  remonstrance  or  entreaties  to  excite  our  zeal  for 
its  preservation.  It  is  the  power  only  of  being  serviceable 
that  fails  us.  Ever  since  that  unfortunate  hour,  when  the 
people  in  their  madness  so  unjustly  banished  Coriolanus,  his 
heart  has  been  no  less  estranged  from  his  family  than  from 
his  country. 

10.  "  You  will  be  convinced  of  this  sad  truth  by  his  own 
words  to  us  at  parting.  When  he  returned  home  from  the 
assembly,  where  he  had  been  condemned,  he  found  us  in  the 
depth  of  affliction,  bewailing  the  miseries  that  were  sure  to 
follow  our  being  deprived  of  so  dear  a  son,  and  so  excellent 
a  husband.  We  had  his  children  upon  our  knees.  He  kept 
himself  at  a  distance  from  us  ;  and,  when  he  had  awhile  stood 
silent,  motionless  as  a  rock,  his  eyes  fixed,  and  without 
shedding  a  tear :  '  'Tis  done,'  he  said.  '  O  mother,  and 
thou,  Volumnia,  the  best  of  wives,  to  you  Marcius  is  nD 
more ! 

11.  '"I  am  banished  hence  for  my  affection  to  my  coun- 
try, and  the  services  I  have  done  it.  I  go  this  instant ;  and  I 
leave  forever  a  city  where  all  good  men  are  proscribed. 
Support  this  blow  of  fortune  with  the  magnanimity  that  be- 
comes women  of  your  high  rank  and  virtue.  I  commend  my 
children  to  your  care.  Educate  them  in'  a  manner  worthji 
of  you,  and  of  the  race  from  which  they  come.  Heaven 
grant  they  may  be  more  fortunpte  than  their  father,  and 
never  fall  short  of  him  in  virtue :  and  may  you  in  them  find 
your  consolation  ! — Farewell '' 


YOUNG     LADIES'    READER.  237 

13.  "  We  started  up  at  the  sound  of  this  word,  and,  with 
loud  cries  of  lamentation,  ran  to  him  to  receive  his  last  em- 
braces. I  led  his  elder  son  by  the  hand ;  Volumnia  had  the 
younger  in  her  arms.  He  turned  his  eyes  from  us,  and,  put- 
ting us  back  with  his  hand,  '  Mother,'  said  he,  '  from  this  mo- 
ment you  have  no  son  ;  our  country  has  taken  from  you  the 
stay  of  your  old  age.  Nor  to  you,  Volumnia,  will  Marcius 
be  henceforth  a  husband  ;  mayst  thou  be  happy  with  another, 
more  fortunate !  My  dear  children,  you  have  lost  your  fa- 
ther !' 

13.  "  He  said  no  more,  but  instantly  broke  away  from  us. 
He  departed  from  Rome  without  settling  his  domestic  affairs, 
or  leaving  any  orders  about  them  ;  without  money,  without 
servants,  and  even  without  letting  us  know  to  what  part  of 
the  world  he  would  direct  his  steps.  It  is  now  the  fourth 
year  since  he  went  away  ;  and  he  has  never  inquired  after  his 
family,  nor,  by  letter  or  messenger,  given  us  the  least  account 
of  himself:  so  that  it  seems  as  if  his  mother  and  his  wife 
were  the  chief  objects  of  that  general  hatred  which  he  shows 
to  his  country. 

14.  "  What  success,  then,  can  you  expect  from  our  entreat- 
ies to  a  man  so  implacable?  Can  two  women  bend  that 
stubborn  heart  which  even  all  the  ministers  of  religion  were 
not  able  to  soften  ?  And,  indeed,  what  shall  I  say  to  him  ? 
What  can  I  reasonably  desire  of  him  ? — that  he  would  pardon 
ungrateful  citizens,  who  have  treated  him  as  the  vilest  crim- 
inal ? — that  he  would  take  compassion  upon  a  furious,  unjust 
populace,  which  had  no  regard  for  his  innocence  1  and  that  he 
would  betray  a  nation,  which  has  not  only  opened  him  an 
asylum,  but  has  even  preferred  him  to  her  most  illustrious 
citizens  in  the  command  of  her  armies  1 

15.  "  With  what  face  can  I  ask  him  to  abandon  such  gen- 
erous protectors,  and  deliver  himself  again  into  the  hands  of 
his  most  bitter  enemies  1  Can  a  Roman  mother,  and  a  Ro 
man  wife,  with  decency,  exact  from  a  son  and  a  husband, 
compliances  which  must  dishonor  him  before  both  gods  and 


238  SANDERS'     NEW     SERIES. 

men  ?  Mournful  circumstance,  in  which  we  have  not  power 
to  hate  the  most  formidable  enemy  of  our  country  !  Leave 
us,  therefore,  to  our  unhappy  destiny ;  and  do  not  desire  us 
to  make  it  more  unhappy  by  an  action  that  may  cast  a  blem- 
ish upon  our  virtue." 

16.  The  women  made  no  answer,  but  by  their  tears  and 
entreaties.  Some  embraced  her  knees ;  others  beseeched 
Volumnia  to  join  her  prayers  to  theirs ;  all  conjured  Veturia 
not  to  refuse  her  country  this  last  assistance.  Overcome,  at 
length,  by  their  urgent  solicitations,  she  promised  to  do  as 
they  desired.  The  very  next  day,  all  the  most  illustrious  of 
the  Roman  women  repaired  to  Veturia's  house.  There  they 
presently  mounted  a  number  of  chariots,  which-  the  consuls 
had  ordered  to  be  made  ready  for  them  ;  and  without  any 
guard,  took  the  way  to  the  enemy's  camp. 

17.  Coriolanus,  perceiving  from  afar  that  long  train  of 
chariots,  sent  out  some  horsemen  to  learn  the  design  of  it. 
They  quickly  brought  him  word  that  it  was  his  mother,  his 
wife,  and  a  great  number  of  other  women,  and  their  children, 
coming  to  the  camp.  He,  doubtless,  conjectured  what  views 
the  Romans  had  in  so  extraordinary  a  deputation ;  that  this 
was  the  last  expedient  of  the  Senate  ;  and,  in  his  own  mind, 
he  determined  not  to  let  himself  be  moved. 

18.  But  he  reckoned  upon  a  savage  inflexibility  that  was 
not  in  his  nature  ;  for,  going  out  with  a  few  attendants  to  re- 
ceive the  women,  he  no  sooner  beheld  Veturia,  attired  in 
mourning,  her  eyes  bathed  in  tears,  and  with  a  countenance 
and  motion  that  spoke  her  sinking  under  a  load  of  sorrow, 
than  he  ran  hastily  to  her  ;  and,  not  only  calling  her  mother, 
but  adding  to  that  word  the  most  tender  epithets,  embraced 
her,  wept  over  her,  and  held  her  in  his  arms  to  prevent  her 
falling.  The  like  tenderness  he  presently  after  expressed  to 
his  wife,  highly  commending  her  discretion  in  having  con- 
stantly remained  with  his  mother  since  his  departure  from 
Rome.  And  then,  with  the  warmest  paternal  affection,  he 
caressed  his  children. 


YOUNG    LADIES'  EEADER.  289 

19.  When  some  time  had  been  allowed  to  those  silent  tears 
of  joy,  which  often  flow  plenteously  at  the  sudden  and  unex- 
pected meeting  of  persons  dear  to  each  other,  Veturia  enter- 
ed upon  the  business  she  had  undertaken.  After  many  for- 
cible appeals  to  his  understanding  and  patriotism,  she  exclaim- 
ed :  "  What  frenzy,  what  madness  of  anger  transports  my 
son  !  Heaven  is  appeased  by  supplications,  vows,  and  sacri- 
fices ;  shall  mortals  be  implacable  1  Will  Marcius  set  no 
bounds  to  his  resentment  1 

20.  "  But,  allowing  that  thy  enmity  to  thy  country  is  too 
violent  to  let  thee  listen  to  her  petition  for  peace  ;  yet  be  not 
deaf,  my  son,  be  not  inexorable  to  the  prayers  and  tears  of 
thy  mother.  Thou  dreadst  the  very  appearance  of  ingrati- 
tude toward  the  Volsci ;  and  shall  thy  mother  have  reason  to 
accuse  thee  of  being  ungrateful'?  Call  to  mind  the  tender 
care  I  took  of  thy  infancy  and  earliest  youth  ;  the  alarms,  the 
anxiety  I  suffered  on  thy  account,  when,  entered  into  the  state 
of  manhood,  thy  life  was  almost  daily  exposed  in  foreign 
wars ;  the  apprehensions,  the  terrors  I  underwent,  when  I  saw 
thee  so  warmly  engaged  in  our  domestic  quarrels,  and,  with 
heroic  courage,  opposing  the  unjust  pretensions  of  the  furious 
plebeians. 

21.  "  My  sad  forebodings  of  the  event  have  been  mt  too 
well  verified.  Consider  the  wretched  life  I  have  endured,  if 
it  may  be  called  life,  during  the  time  that  has  passed  since  I  was 
deprived  of  thee.  O  Marcius,  refuse  me  not  the  only  request 
I  ever  made  to  thee ;  I  will  never  importune  thee  with  any 
other.  Cease  thy  immoderate  anger ;  be  reconciled  to  thy 
country  :  this  is  all  I  ask ;  grant  me  but  this,  and  we  shall 
both  be  happy. 

22.  "  Freed  from  those  tempestuous  passions  which  now 
agitate  thy  soul,  and  from  all  the  torments  of  self-repx^oach, 
thy  days  will  flow  smoothly  on  in  the  sweet  serenity  of  con- 
scious virtue ;  and,  as  for  me,  if  I  carry  back  to  Rome  the 
hopes  of  an  approaching  peace,  an  assurance  of  thy  being 
reconciled  to  thy  country,  with  what  transports  of  joy  shall  I 


240  SANDERS'     NEW     SERIES. 

be  received !  In  what  honor,  in  what  delightful  repose,  shall 
I  pass  the  remainder  of  my  life !  What  immortal  glory  shall 
I  have  acquired !" 

23.  Coriolanus  made  no  attempt  to  interrupt  Veturia 
while  she  was  speaking ;  and  when  she  had  ceased,  he  still 
continued  in  deep  silence.  Anger,  hatred,  and  desire  of  re- 
venge, balanced  in  his  heart  those  softer  passions  which  the 
mght  and  discourse  of  his  mother  had  awakened  in  his  breast. 
Veturia,  perceiving  his  irresolution,  and  fearing  the  event, 
thus  renewed  her  expostulation : 

24.  "  Why  dost  thou  not  answer  me,  my  son  1  Is  there, 
then,  such  greatness  of  mind  in  giving  all  to  resentment? 
Art  thou  ashamed  to  grant  any  thing  to  a  mother  who  thus 
entreats  thee,  thus  humbies  herself  to  thee  ?  If  it  be  so,  to 
what  purpose  should  I  longer  endure  a  wretched  life !"  As 
she  uttered  these  last  words,  interrupted  by  sighs,  she  threw 
herself  prostrate  at  his  feet.  His  wife  and  children  did  the 
same ;  and  all  the  other  women,  with  united  voices  of  mourn- 
ful accent,  begged  and  implored  his  pity. 

25.  The  Volscian  officers,  not  able,  unmoved,  to  behold  this 
scene,  turned  away  their  eyes  ;  but  Coriolanus,  almost  beside 
himself  to  see  Veturia  at  his  feet,  passionately  cried  out : 
"  Ahr  mother,  what  art  thou  doing  ?"  And,  tenderly  press- 
ing her  hand,  in  raising  her  up,  he  added,  in  a  low  voice : 
"  Rome  is  saved,  but  thy  son  is  lost !" 

26.  Early  the  next  morning,  Coriolanus  broke  up  his  camp, 
and  peaceably  marched  his  army  homeward.  Nobody  had 
the  boldness  to  contradict  his  orders.  Many  were  exceed- 
ingly dissatisfied  with  his  conduct ;  but  others  excused  it,  be- 
ing more  affected  with  his  filial  respect  to  his  mother  than 
with  their  own  interests. 

Questions. — 1.  "What  rule  for  the  rising  inflection  on  so/ten,  four- 
teenth  paragraph  ?  2.  Why  the  rising  inflection  on  criminal,  and  the 
falling  on  him,  same  paragraph  ?  3.  What  rule  for  the  rising  inflec- 
tion on  mother,  twenty-fifth  paragraph  ? 


YOUNG     LADIES'  READER.  241 


EXERCISE  LXXX. 

AUTHORS,— THE   UNDYING    BENEFACTORS   OF  MANKIND. 

E.    F     WBIPPLE. 

1.  How  shall  we  fitly  estimate  the  vast  inheritance  of  the 
world's  intellectual  treasures,  to  which  all  are  born  heirs  1 
What  words  can  declare  the  immeasurable  worth  of  books, — 
what  rhetoric  set  forth  the  importance  of  that  great  invention 
which  diffused  them  over  the  whole  earth  to  glad  its  myriads 
of  minds  ?  The  invention  of  printing  added  a  new  element 
of  power  to  the  race.  From  that  hour,  in  a  most  especial 
sense,  the  brain  and  not  the  arm,  the  thinker  and  not  the  sol- 
dier, books  and  not  kings,  were  to  rule  the  world ;  and  weapons, 
forged  in  the  mind,  keen-edged  and  brighter  than  the  sunbeam, 
were  to  supplant  the  sword  and  the  battle-ax. 

2.  The  conflicts  of  the  world  were  not  to  take  place  alto- 
gether on  the  tented  field  ;  but  ideas,  leaping  from  a  world's 
awakened  intellect,  and  burning  all  over  with  indestructible 
life,  were  to  be  marshaled  against  principalities  and  powers. 
The  great  and  the  good,  whose  influence  before  had  been 
chiefly  over  individual  minds,  were  now  to  be  possessed  of  a 
magic,  which,  giving  wings  to  their  thoughts,  would  waft  them, 
like  so  many  carrier  doves,  on  messages  of  hope  and  deliver- 
ance to  the  nations. 

3.  Words,  springing  fresh  and  bright  from  the  soul  of  a 
master-spirit  and  dropping  into  congenial  hearts,  like  so  many 
sparks  of  fire,  were  no  longer  to  lose  this  being  with  the  vi- 
brations of  the  air  they  disturbed,  or  molder  with  the  papyrus 
on  which  they  were  written,  but  were  to  be  graven  in  ever- 
lasting  characters,  and  rouse,  strengthen,  and  illumine  th 
minds  of  all  ages. 

4.  There  was  to  be  a  stern  death-grapple  between  Might 
and  Right, — between  the  heavy  arm  and  the  ethereal  thought, 
— ^between  that  wliich  was  and  that  which  ought  to  he;  for 
there  was  a  great  spirit  abroad  in  the  world,  whom  dungeons 
could  not  confine,  nor  oceans  check,  nor  persecutions  subdue. 

11 


242  SANDERS'    NEW    SERIES. 

whose  path  lay  through  the  great  region  of  ideas,  and  whose 
dominion  was  over  the  mind. 

5.  If  such  were  the  tendency  of  that  great  invention  which 
leaped  or  bridged  the  barriers  separating  mind  from  mind, 
and  heart  from  heart,  who  shall  calculate  its  effect  in  promot- 
ing private  happiness  ?  Books, — light-houses  erected  in  the 
great  sea  of  time, — ^books,  the  precious  depositories  of  the 
thoughts  and  creations  of  genius ;  books  by  whose  sorcery  times 
past  become  times  present,  and  the  whole  pageantry  of  the 
world's  history  moves  in  solemn  procession  before  our  eyes  ; 
these  were  to  visit  the  firesides  of  the  humble,  and  lavish  the 
treasures  of  the  intellect  upon  the  poor. 

6.  Could  we  have  Plato,  and  Shakspeare,  and  Milton,  in 
our  dwellings,  in  the  full  vigor  of  their  imaginations,  in  the 
full  freshness  of  their  hcjarts,  few  scholars  would  be  affluent 
enough  to  afford  them  physical  support ;  but  the  living  images 
of  their  minds  are  within  the  eyes  of  all.  From  their  pages 
their  mighty  souls  look  out  upon  us  in  all  their  grandeur  and 
beauty,  undimmed  by  the  faults  and  follies  of  earthly  exist- 
ence, consecrated  by  time. 

■  7.  Precious  and  priceless  are  the  blessings  which  books 
scatter  around  our  daily  paths.  We  walk,  in  imagination, 
with  the  noblest  spirits,  through  the  most  sublime  and  en- 
chanting regions, — regions  which,  to  all  that  is  lovely  in  the 
forms  and  colors  of  earth, 

"Add the  gleam, 
The  light  that  never  was  on  sea  or  land, 
vji  The  consecration  and  the  poet's  dream." 

8.  A  motion  of  the  hand  brings  all  Arcadia*  to  sight.  The 
war  of  Troy  can,  at  our  bidding,  rage  in  the  narrowest  cham- 
ber. Without  stirring  from  our  firesides,  we  may  roam  to 
the  most  remote  regions  of  the  earth,  or  soar  into  realms 
where  Spenser's  shapes  of  unearthly  beauty  flock  to  meet  us, 
where  Milton's  angels  peal  in  our  ears  tlie  choral  hymns  of 

*  A  country  of  ancient  Greece,  in  the  center  of  the  Peloponnesus 


YOUNG     LADIES'    KEADER.  243 

Paradise.  Science,  art,  literature,  philosophy, — all  that  man 
has  thought,  all  that  man  has  done, — the  experience  that  has 
been  bought  with  the  sufferings  of  a  hundred  generations, — 
all  are  garnered  up  for  us  in  the  world  of  books. 

9.  There,  among  realities,  in  a  "  substantial  world,"  we 
move  with  the  crowned  kings  of  thought.  There  our  minds 
have  a  free  range,  our  hearts  a  free  utterance.  Reason  is 
confined  within  none  of  the  partitions  which  trammel  it  in 
life.  The  hard  granite  of  conventionalism  melts  away  as  a 
thin  mist.  We  call  things  by  their  right  names.  Our  lips 
give  not  the  lie  to  our  hearts.  We  bend  the  knee  only  to  the 
great  and  good.  We  despise  only  the  despicable ;  we  honor 
only  the  honorable. 

10.  In  that  world,  no  divinity  hedges  a  king;  no  accident 
of  rank  or  fashion  ennobles  a  dunce,  or  shields  a  knave. 
There,  and  almost  only  there,  do  our  affections  have  free 
play.  We  can  select  our  companions  from  among  the  most 
richly  gifted  of  the  sons  of  God,  and  they  are  companions 
who  will  not  desert  us  in  poverty,  or  sickness,  or  disgrace. 

11.  When  every  thing  else  fails, — when  fortune  frowns,  and 
friends  cool,  and  health  forsakes  us, — when  this  great  world 
of  forms  and  shows  appears  a  "  two-edged  lie,  which  seems 
but  is  not," — when  all  our  earth-clinging  hopes  and  ambitions 
melt  away  into  nothingness, 

"  Like  snow-falls  on  a  river, 
One  moment  white,  then  gone  forever," — 

we  are  still  not  without  friends  to  animate  and  console  us, — 
friends,  in  whose  immortal  countenances,  as  they  look  out 
upon  us  from  books,  we  can  discern  no  change  ;  who  will 
dignify  low  fortunes  and  humble  life  with  their  kingly  presence ; 
who  will  people  solitude  with  shapes  more  glorious  than  ever 
glittered  in  palaces ;  who  will  consecrate  sorrow  and  take  the 
sting  from  care ;  and  who,  in  the  long  hours  of  despondency 
and  weakness,  will  send  healing  to  the  sick  heart,  and  energy 
to  the  wasted  brain. 


244  SANDEKS'  NEW    SERIES. 

12.  Well  might  Milton  exclaim,  in  that  impassioned  speech 
for  the  Liberty  of  Unlicensed  Printing,  where  every  word 
leaps  with  intellectual  life  :  "  Who  kills  a  man,  kills  a  reason- 
able creature,  God's  image ;  but  who  destroys  a  good  book, 
kills  reason  itself,  kills  the  image  of  God,  as  it  were,  in  the 
eye.  Many  a  man  lives  a  burden  upon  the  earth ;  but  a  good 
book  is  the  precious  life-blood  of  a  master-spirit,  embalmed 
and  treasured  up  on  purpose  for  a  life  beyond  life !" 


EXERCISE    LXXXI. 
ELLEN,   THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 

WALTEE  800TX. 

1.         But  scarce  again  his  horn  he  wound, 

When,  lo  !  forth  starting  at  the  sound, 

From  underneath  an  aged  oak 

That  slanted  from  the  islet  rock, 

A  damsel,  guider  of  its  way, 

A  little  skiff  shot  to  the  bay. 

That  round  the  promontory  steep 

Led  its  deep  line  in  graceful  sweep, 

Eddying,  in  almost  viewless  wave, 

The  weeping  willow  twig  to  lave, 

And  kiss,  with  whispering  sound  and  olow, 

The  beach  of  pebbles  bright  as  snow. 

2.  The  boat  had  touched  this  silver  strand, 

Just  as  the  hunter  lefl  his  stand, 
And  stood  concealed  amid  the  brake 
To  view  this  Lady  of  the  Lake. 
The  maiden  paused,  as  if  again 
She  thought  to  catch  the  distant  strain. 
With  head  up-raised,  and  look  intent, 
And  eye  and  ear  attentive  bent. 
And  locks  flung  back,  and  lips  apart, 
Like  monument  of  Grecian  art, 


YOUNG     LADIES'    READER.  245 

In  listening  mood,  she  seemed  to  stand, 
The  guardian  Naiad  of  the  strand. 

3.  And  ne'er  did  Grecian  chisel  trace 
A  Nymph,  a  Naiad,  or  a  Grace, 
Of  finer  form,  or  lovelier  face ! 

What  though  the  sun  with  ardent  frown, 
Had  slightly  tinged  her  cheek  with  brown  ? 
The  sportive  toil,  which,  short  and  light. 
Had  dyed  her  glowing  hues  so  bright, 
Served  too  in  hastier  swell  to  show 
Short  glimpses  of  a  breast  of  snow ; 
What  though  no  rule  of  courtly  grace 
To  measured  mood  had  train'd  her  pace  ? 
A  foot  more  light,  a  step  more  true, 
Ne'er  from  the  heath-flower  dashed  the  dew ; 
E'en  the  slight  harebell  raised  its  head 
Elastic  from  her  airy  tread  : 
What  though  upon  her  speech  there  hung 
The  accents  of  the  mountain-tongue — 
(p.)      Those  silvery  sounds,  so  soft,  so  dear, 
The  list'ner  held  his  breath  to  hear  ! 

4.  A  chieftain's  daughter  seemed  the  maid ; 
Her  satin  snood,  her  silken  plaid, 

Her  golden  brooch  such  birth  betrayed. 
And  seldom  was  a  snood  amid 
Such  wild*luxuriant  ringlets  hid. 
Whose  glossy  black  to  shame  might  bring 
The  plumage  of  the  raven  's  wing ; 
And  seldom  o'er  a  breast  so  fair 
Mantled  a  plaid  with  modest  care ; 
And  never  brooch  the  folds  combined 
Above  a  heart  more  good  and  kind. 
Her  kindness  and  her  worth  to  spy, 
You  need  but  gaze  on  Ellen  's  eye ; 


^46  SANDEES'     NEW     SERIES. 

Not  Katrine,  in  her  mirror  blue, 
Gives  back  the  shaggy  banks  more  true 
Than  every  free-born  glance  confessed 
The  guileless  movements  of  her  breast ; 
Whether  joy  danced  in  her  dark  eye, 
Or  woe  or  pity  claimed  a  sigh, 
Or  filial  love  was  glowing  there. 
Or  meek  devotion  poured  a  prayer, 
Or  tale  of  injury  called  forth 
The  indignant  spirit  of  the  North. 
One  only  passion  unrevealed 
With  maiden  pride  the  maid  concealed, 
Yet  not  less  purely  felt  the  flame, — 
O,  need  I  tell  that  passion's  name  1 


EXERCISE    LXXXII. 
THE  ITALIAN  EXILE. 


1.  When  the  minstrel  is  sorrowful,  sad  is  the  lay, 
You  may  smile  on  his  song,  but  his  soul  is  away  ; 
For  no  theme  can  excite  this  cold  fancy  of  mine, 
So  far  from  the  land  of  the  olive  and  vine. 

2.  There  passion  breathes  out  from  the  lyre  and  the  lute, 
And  the  voice  of  their  melody  never  is  mute  ; 

Love  stamps  on  the  forehead  of  Beauty  its  seal, 
On  cheeks  that  can  burn  and  on  hearts  -that  can  feel. 

3.  Years  vanish, — their  trace  on  my  brow  you  behold. 
And  my  heart  has  to  beauty  grown  careless  and  cold ; 
Yet  of  all  sweet  impressions  that  linger  there  yet. 
The  daughters  of  Florence  it  last  will  forget. 

4.  Ye  Pilgrims  of  Beauty,  from  barbarous  lands. 
Behold  where  the  model*  of  loveliness  stands  ; 

*  The  Venus  de  Medici.     See  Note,  page  141. 


YOUNG    LADIES     READER.  247 

Go,  kneel  by  the  marble,  if  marble  it  seem, 

And  love,  with  its  torch,  will  illumine  your  dream. 

5.  Lost  thoughts  of  your  youth  will  that  statue  renew; 
You  will  muse  on  the  home  of  the  faithful  and  true, 
Where  never  can  come  disappointment  or  care, 
And  the  beings  are  pure  as  that  image  is  fair. 

6.  Italy  !  Italy  !  never  again 

May  the  minstrel  revisit  thy  mountain  and  plain, 
Yet  a  vision  of  bliss  on  his  slumber  there  breaks, 
But  to  dream  of  thy  shores,  though  an  exile,  he  wakes. 

3  Thy  present  is  beautiful ;  great  was  thy  past ; 
May  thy  future  restore  thee  to  greatness  at  last  t 
The  home  of  my  fathers !  the  land  of  the  sun ! 
Honored,  though  distant,  and  dear,  though  undone. 


EXERCISE    LXXXIII. 
iDVERSITY,    WITH  INTERJECTIONS    BY   THE   READER. 

ROBERT   CHAMBERS. 

1.  Adversity  ! — daughter  of  Jove — relentless  power — tamer 
<tf  the  human  breast — companion  and  nurse  of  virtue — such 
arc  the  terms  in  which  a  philosophical  poet  has  spoken  of  it. 
In  similar  language  have  almost  all  the  poets  and  philosophers 
of  all  ages  eulogized  adversity  ;  without  which,  some  of  them 
say,  it  is  impossible  for  any  one  to  know  what  sterling  quali- 
ties he  may  possess,  or  what  great  things  he  may  accomplish. 
[A  very  good  thing  for  all  people  besides  ourselves,  I  sup- 
pose.] To  see  a  brave  man,  says  Seneca,  struggling  against 
evil  fortune — 

"Still  buoyant  'midst  the  waves  of  adverse  fate," 
is  the  finest  sight  the  world  can  show.     The  gods  might  be 


248  SANDEKS'    NEW    SERIES. 


expected  to  look  down  with  satisfaption  on  such  a  spectacle. 
[All  very  true,  perhaps ;  but  this  is  apparently  a  drama 
which  would  expire  for  want  of  actors,  if  men  had  their  own 
choice.] 

2.  The  corrupting  tendency  of  prosperity  has  always  been 
fully  acknowledged.  Men  are  then  apt  to  be  extremely 
puffed  up  and  forgetful  of  themselves.  They  begin  to  look 
on  their  fellow-creatures  as  beings  of  an  inferior  nature,  whom 
they  are  at  liberty  to  use  for  their  own  purposes.  Old  friends 
are  forgotten ;  nay,  even  those  who  may  have  conferred  bene- 
fits upon  them  in  their  less  fortunate  days.  Often,  in  the 
wantonness  of  prosperity,  men  will  trample  the  most  sacred 
principles  under  foot. 

3.  In  short,  it  has  ever  been  regarded  as  a  most  dangerous 
thing  for  a  frail  mortal  to  be  exposed  to  the  demoralizing  in- 
fluences which  attend  a  large  measure  of  the  good  things  of 
this  life.  [All  nonsense.  I  know  many  good  fellows  who 
have  feathered  their  nests  by  railway  speculations.  They 
never  used  to  give  dinners,  because  they  said  they  could  not 
afford  it.  Now,  they  ask  you  every  fortnight.  Forget  old 
friends !  They  never  could  remember  them  till  now.  And 
as  for  trampling  sacred  principles  under  foot — why,  you  will 
see  their  names  opposite  good  sums  in  all  the  charity  books 
that  go  about, — fellows  that  never  gave  a  half-penny  to  a  beg- 
gar before.  I  would  like  to  be  exposed  to  similar  danger — 
that  I  know.] 

4.  The  enervating  effect  of  prosperity  is,  perhaps,  its  most 
remarkable  result.  Under  this  sickly  influence  all  the  hardy 
virtues  languish  and  die.  Adversity,  on  the  contrary,  devel- 
ops the  native  vigor  of  human  character.  [Well,  I  know 
that  Jasper  Thoroughpace  was  a  clever,  active  fellow  while 
things  were  going  well  with  him  ;  but  now  that  he  is  in  the 
background,  one  would  think  that  he  had  lost  all  spirit,  and 
had  resolved  to  allow  the  world  to  take  its  own  course  with 
him — like  a  Turk.  I  called  upon  him  the  other  morning,  and 
showed  him  how  he  might  make  thirty  pounds  in  a  couj)lo  of 


YOUNG     LADIES'     KEADEK.  249 

days,  if  he  would  only  look  sharp.     But  he  told  me  it  was 
of  no  use— he  had  not  heart  to  try  any  thing.] 

5.  Yield  not  to  evils,  said  the  Sybil,  but  go  the  more  dar- 
ingly against  them.  You  vanquish  Fortune  by  bearing  her 
spite  with  fortitude.  How  nobly  did  the  ancients  practice 
these  admirable  maxims  of  theirs,  and  what  a  noble  example 
have  they  thus  left  to  us  !  [A  set  of  ninnies,  that  fell  on  their 
swords  whenever  any  thing  went  wrong.  No,  no,  my  friend ; 
depend  on  it,  it's  all  talk  about  the  invigorating  effect  of 
adversity.  As  well  tell  me  that  crocuses  thrive  because  of 
the  snow  they  grow  among,  when  we  know  it  is  only  by 
reason  of  such  sunshine  as  there  is,  at  that  season,  that  they 
can  get  up  their  heads  at  all.] 

6.  Perhaps,  however,  the  most  blessed  result  of  adversity 
is  in  its  softening  effects  upon  our  nature.  From  my  own,  I 
learn  to  melt  at  others'  woe,  saith  the  poet,  not  more  beauti- 
fully than  truly.  Amidst  the  luxuries  and  blandishments 
which  prosperity  brings  us,  we  unavoidably  become  selfish 
and  egotistical.  The  spirit  grows  upon  us,  till  we  becomt 
thoroughly  hardened.  But  let  us  experience  the  frowns  of 
adversity,  and  we  feel  at  once  that  we  are  men.  Our  vexa 
tions  and  griefs  teach  us  what  human  life  really  is  to  the  great 
bulk  of  our  fellow-creatures,  and  we  then  begin  to  open  our 
ears  to  the  cry  of  the  poor  and  the  anguish-laden. 

7.  Thus,  it  has  happened  to  many  a  man  to  be  converted 
into  humanity  by  adversity,  who  would  otherwise  have  gone 
on  to  the  close  of  life  in  impenetrable  selfishness — selfishness 
all  the  greater,  that  he  was  totally  unconscious  of  there  being 
any  such  thing  about  him.  [Now,  such  nonsense  is  here  ! 
Why,  the  very  contrary  is  the  case.  There  is  Mrs.  Craik,  the 
nicest  creature  in  the  world  as  long  as  her  husband  was  in 
easy  circumstances, — felt  for  every  body,  and  helped  all  she 
could, — never  seemed  to  have  a  selfish  thought.  But  now  that 
Craik  has  fallen  back  so  much,  why,  she  is  no  longer  endurable. 

8.  Last  time  I  went  to  see  her,  she  talked  of  nothing  but 
the  slights  she  meets  with  from  old  acquaintances,  and  what 

11* 


250  SANDERS'  NEW    SERIES. 

she  suffers  from  her  husband's  bad  temper.  She  is  now  bit- 
ter at  every  thing.  Call  you  this  egotism  or  not  1  And  she 
really  is  a  good  creature,  too.  It  is  only  that  she  has  so 
much  to  annoy  her  own  mind,  that  she  can  think  of  nothing 
else,  much  less  feel  for  any  other  body's  troubles.  And  is 
this  an  uncommon  case  ?  Have  you  never  heard  of  people 
being  soured  by  misfortune,  getting  spited  at  the  world,  when 
it  goes  against  them,  and  so  forth  ?  Men  are  hardened,  my 
dear  friend,  not  by  prosperity,  but  by  adversity.] 

9.  While  thus  serviceable  in  disciplining  the  feelings,  adver- 
sity has  a  scarcely  less  important  power  as  an  instructor  of 
the  judgment.  In  prosperity,  we  see  every  thing  through  a 
false  medium.  The  world  smiles  upon  us,  because  fortune 
does.  We  never  learn  the  real  thoughts  of  those  around  us. 
Men  have  an  interest  in  deceiving  us,  and  we  can  hardly  miss 
being  deceived  accordingly.  But,  while  abiding  the  storms 
of  adversity,  we  have  all  things  presented  to  us  in  the  unflat- 
tering reality. 

10.  We  see  the  selfishness,  if  not  heartlessness,  of  men, 
and  how  little  even  genuine  merit  affects  them,  if  they  do  not 
think  they  can  make  something  by  it.  We  learn  to  avoid 
taking  things  at  their  first  fair  seeming ;  to  pause,  look  nar- 
rowly, and  approve  late.  We  learn  to  cope  with  the  most 
astute  in  all  worldly  matters.  From  these  considerations  it 
is,  that  the  diplomas  of  those  reared  in  the  school  of  adversity, 
have  ever  borne  so  much  higher  a  value  than  those  of  persons 
brought  up  in  pleasanter  academies, 

11.  Indeed,  as  an  English  poet  has  well  expressed  it :  "  So 
many  great  illustrious  spirits  have  conversed  with  Woe,  and 
been  taught  in  her  school,  as  are  enough  to  consecrate  dis- 
tress, and  make  ambition  wish  for  the  frown  rather  than  the 
smile  of  Fortune."  [Stuff,  stuff— nothing  but  stuff!  Adver- 
sity only  twists  people's  judgments.  In  that  school  they  do 
not  see  things  in  their  true  character,  but  in  a  very  false 
one. 

12.  Every  thing  appears  harsh  and  disagreeable  to  the  man 


YOUNG    LADIES'   READER.  251 

suffering  adversity.  If  a  merchant  in  struggling  circumstances, 
and  refused  a  little  credit,  he  thinks  there  is  no  faith  in  human 
probity,  and  goes  home  as  sulky  as  a  bear.  If  a  commander 
who  has  failed  in  an  enterprise,  he  conceives  every  allusion  in 
his  presence  to  military  failures,  a  symptom  of  the  ungenerous 
spirit  of  detraction  in  his  fellow-creatures,  and  is  likely  to  fall 
into  a  dueling  business  every  day  of  his  life. 

13.  Who  has  the  justest  opinion  of  critics — the  author 
whose  works  get  a  fair  share  of  the  praise  which  they  de- 
serve, or  he  who,  writing  bad  books,  is  continually  cut  up 
in  the  reviews  1  Oh,  my  friend,  look  a  little  among  those 
who  are  called  the  suffering  classes,  and  say,  if  actual  obser- 
vation makes  good  these  dreams  of  yours  about  the  stern 
schoolmistress. 

14.  Tell  us,  if  you  there  find  juster  views  of  life  and  its 
complicated  interests,  than  among  the  quiet,  well-off  people 
of  the  middle  ranks,  or  even  those  who  have  suffered  a  little 
too  much  of  prosperity.  Tell  us  whether  demagogues  find 
their  best  subjects  among  those  who  have  empty,  or  those 
who  have  full  stomachs.  But  I  have  lost  all  patience  with  this 
twattle  about  the  beauties  of  adversity,  and  can  listen  to  no 
more  of  it.]  JSxit  reader  in  a  huff^  after  throwing  the  book 
from  him  with  contempt. 

15.  Gentle  readers  of  my  own,  this  is  a  representation  of 
the  spirit  of  ancient  writers  in  contrast  with  that  of  modern 
readers.  Adversity  is  one  of  the  respectabilities  of  past  lit- 
erature. It  was  the  fashion  for  twenty  centuries  to  expatiate 
upon  the  useful  effects  it  had  upon  human  character,  and  no 
one  ever  thought  of  challenging  this  philosophy,  although 
then,  perhaps.  Adversity's  own  patients  were  as  uneasy  under 
her  surgery  as  now. 

16.  But  it  is  no  longer  possible  to  pass  off  plausible  com- 
monplaces in  this  way.  Men  make  no  allowance  for  the  sol- 
emnities of  authorcraft.  They  look  at  things  in  a  practical 
light  only,  and,  if  they  find  literature  attempting  to  impose 
any  thing  upon  them  contrary  to  what  they  may  see  in  the 


262  S  A  N  D  E  E  3'    NEW    S  E  li  I  E  S. 

next  street  they  pass  through,  or  the  next  house  they  enter, 
they  abide  it  not. 

17.  Addressing  myself  to  the  immediate  question,  I  would 
say  (were  I  asked  my  opinion,)  that  there  is  a  measure  of 
truth  on  both  sides,  though  mostly  on  one.  The  effects  of 
both  prosperity  and  adversity  depend  much  on  the  particular 
character  of  the  person  exposed  to  their  influence.  Some  are 
naturally  liable  to  be  corrupted  by  prosperity,  and  to  be  cor- 
rected by  reverses ;  and  this  gives  countenance  to  that  lauda 
tion  of  adversity,  which  poets  and  philosophers  have  good 
naturedly  proclaimed  as  a  kind  of  consolation  for  suffering 
mortals  in  all  ages. 

18.  But  it  would  be  belying  nearly  the  whole  system  of 
human  desires  and  motives,  if  we  could  not  say  that,  in  the 
large  majority  of  cases,  prosperity  has  a  softening  and  a  gen- 
erally improving  effect,  and  adversity  the  reverse.  The  lat- 
ter can  only  be  honestly  regarded  as  mainly,  and  in  most 
instances,  a  positive  evil.  Bear  it  resignedly  and  virtuously : 
admire  all  examples  of  heroism  under  it ;  be  unlimited  in 
efforts  to  relieve  its  victims.  But  see  it,  at  the  same  time, 
in  its  true  character,  and  try  by  all  honorable  means  to  be 
prosperous — notwithstanding  the  poets. 


EXERCISE    LXXXIV. 
THE   MUSHROOM   FAMILY. 

MACKENZIE. 

To  the  Author  of  the  "  Lounger" : 

1.  Sir:  I  troubled  you  some  time  ago  with  a  letter  from 
the  country  ;  now  that  I  am  come  to  town,  I  use  the  freedom 
to  write  to  you  again.  I  find  the  same  difficulty  in  being 
happy,  with  every  thing  to  make  me  so,  here  as  there.  When 
I  tell  this  to  my  country  friends,  they  won't  believe  me. 
Oh,  dear !  to  see  how  the  Miss  Homespuns  looked  when  they 
came  to  take  leave  of  me,  the  morning  we  set  cut  for  I^diii 


YOUNG    LADIES'   READER.  253 

burgh !  I  had  just  put  on  my  new  rJding-habit,  which  my 
brother  fetched  me  from  London,  and  my  hat,  with  two  green 
and  three  white  feathers  ;  and  Miss  Jessy  Homespun  ad- 
mired it  so  much,  and  when  I  let  her  put  it  on,  she  looked  in 
the  glass,  and  said,  with  a  sigh,  how  charming  it  was ! 

2.  I  had  a  sad  headache  with  it  all  morning,  but  I  kept  that 
to  myself.  "  And  do,  my  dear,"  said  she,  "  write  sometimes 
to  us  poor  moping  creatures  in  the  country.  But  you  won't 
have  leisure  to  think  of  us,  you  will  be  so  happy  and  so  much 
amused."  At  that  moment,  my  brother's  post-coach  rattled 
up  to  the  door,  and  the  poor  Homespuns  cried  so  when  we 
parted  !  To  be  sure,  they  thought  that  a  town  life,  with  my 
brother's  fortune  to  procure  all  its  amusements,  must  be 
quite  delightful.  Now,  sir,  to  let  you  know  how  I  have 
found  it. 

'3.  I  was  content  to  be  lugged  about  by  my  sister,  for  the 
first  week  or  two,  as  I  knew  that  in  a  large  town  I  should  be 
like  a  fish  out  of  water,  as  the  saying  is.  But  my  sister-in- 
law  was  always  putting  me  in  mind  of  my  ignorance  :  "  and 
you  country  girls — and  we  who  have  been  in  London — and 
we  who  have  been  abroad."  However,  between  ourselves,  I 
don't  find  that  she  knows  quite  so  much  as  she  would  make 
me  believe,  for  it  seems  they  can't  learn  many  things  in  the 
Indies  ;  and  when  she  went  out,  she  knew  as  little  as  myself; 
and  as  for  London,  she  was  only  a  fortnight  there  on  her  way 
home. 

4.  So  we  have  got  masters  that  come  in  to  give  us  lessons 
in  French,  and  music,  and  dancing.  The  first  two  I  can  sub- 
mit to  very  well.  I  could  always  put  my  tongue  readily 
enough  about  any  thing,  and  I  could  play  pretty  well  on  the 
virginals  at  home,  though  my  master  says,  my  fingering  is 
not  what  it  should  be.  But  the  dancing  is  a  terrible  busi- 
ness. My  sister-in-law  and  I  are  put  into  the  stocks  every 
morning,  to  teach  us  the  right  position  of  our  feet ;  and  all 
the  steps  I  was  praised  for  in  the  country,  are  now  good  for 
nothing,  as  the  cotillon  step  is  the  only  thing  fit  for  people  of 


254  SANDEES'     NEW     SERIES. 

fashion ;  and  so  we  are  twisted  and  twirled  till  my  joints 
ache  again  ;  and,  after  all,  we  make,  I  believe,  a  very  bad  fig- 
ure at  it.  Indeed,  I  have  not  yet  ventured  to  try  my  hand — 
my  feet,  I  mean — before  any  body. 

5.  But  my  sister-in-law,  who  is  always  praised  for  every 
thing  she  does,  would  needs  try  her  cotillon  steps  at  the  as- 
sembly, and  her  partner,  Captain  Coupee,  a  constant  visitoi 
at  my  brother's,  told  her  what  an  admirable  dancer  she  was ; 
but,  in  truth,  she  was  out  of  time  every  instant,  and  I  heard 
the  people  tittering  at  her  country  fling,  as  they  called  it. 
And  so,  in  the  same  manner,  (which  I  do  not  think  is  at  all 
fair,  Mr.  Lounger,)  the  captain  one  day,  at  our  house,  declared 
she  sang  like  an  angel  (drinking  her  health  in  a  bumper  of 
my  brother's  champagne)  ;  and  yet,  as  I  walked  behind  him 
next  morning  in  Prince's  street,  I  overheard  him  saying  to 
one  of  his  companions,  that  Mushroom's  dinners  were  very 
good  things,  if  it  were  not  for  the  bore  of  the  singing,  and 
that  the  little  Nabohina  squalled  like  a  pea-hen. 

6.  But,  no  doubt,  it  is  good  manners  to  commend  people 
to  their  faces,  whatever  one  may  say  behind  their  backs. 
And,  I  perceive,  they  have  got  fashionable  words  for  praising 
things,  which  it  is  one  of  my  sister's  lessons  and  mine  to 
have  at  our  tongues'  ends,  whether  we  think  so  or  not.  Such 
a  thing,  she  tells  me  (as  she  has  been  taught  by  her  great 
companion.  Miss  Gusto,)  must  be  charming^  another  ravish- 
ing (indeed,  Mr.  Lounger,  that  is  the  word,)  and  a  third  di- 
vine. As  for  mo,  I  have  yet  got  no  farther  than  charming  ; 
I  can  only  say  ravishing  in  a  whisper ;  and  as  for  divine,  I 
think  there  is  something  heathenish  in  it,  though,  indeed,  I  have 
been  told,  since  I  came  here,  that  the  Commandments  were 
onh  meant  for  the  country. 

7.  We  have,  besides,  got  another  phrase,  which  is  perpet- 
ually dinned  into  my  ears  by  my  sister-in-law,  and  that  is  the 
Ton.  Such  a  person  is  a  very  good  kind  of  person,  but  such 
another  is  more  the  Ton;  such  a  lady  is  handsomer,  more 
witty,  more  polite,  and  more  good-humored  than  another,  but 


YOUi!^a  ladies'  reader.  255 

that  other  is  much  more  the  Ton.  I  have  often  asked  my 
sister,  and  even  my  French  master,  to  explain  the  meaning 
of  this  word  Ton  ;  but  they  told  me  there  was  no  translation 
for  it.  I  think,  however,  I  have  found  it  out  to  be  a  very 
convenient  thing  for  that  class  of  people  who  are  ever  ready 
to  assume  the  shield  of  fashion  or  custom  to  hide  the  de- 
formities of  their  real  character, — folks  who  have  the  Ton 
may  do  any  thing  they  like  without  being  in  the  wrong,  and 
every  thing  that  is  the  Ton  is  right,  let  it  be  what  it  will. 

8.  Alas !  sir,  if  the  Ton  would  let  poor  people  alone,  who 
don't  wish  for  distinction,  there  would  be  the  less  to  complain 
of;  but  the  misfortune  is,  that  one  must  be  in  the  Ton  whether 
one's  mind  gives  them  to  it  or  not ;  at  least,  I  am  told  so. 
We  have  a  French  friseur,  whom  our  maitre  dliotel*  Sabot, 
recommended,  who  makes  great  use  of  this  phrase.  He 
screwed  up  my  hair  till  I  thought  I  should  have  fainted  with 
the  pain,  and  I  did  not  sleep  a  wink  all  the  night  after,  be- 
cause he  said  that  a  hundred  little  curls  were  now  become 
the  Ton.  He  recommended  a  shoemaker,  who,  he  said,  made 
for  all  the  people  of  the  Ton,  who  pinched  my  toes  till  I 
could  hardly  walk  across  the  room,  because  little  feet  were 
the  Ton. 

9.  My  staymaker,  another  of  the  same  set,  brought  me 
home  a  pair  of  stays  that  were  but  a  few  inches  round  at  the 
waist,  and  my  maid  and  Sabot  broke  three  laces  before  they 
could  get  them  to  meet,  because  small  waists  were  the  Ton. 
I  sat  at  two  dinners  without  being  able  to  eat  a  morsel,  be- 
cause (I  am  ashamed  to  tell  it,  sir,)  my  stays  would  not  hold 
a  bit.  However,  I  would  submit  to  the  Ton  no  longer  in 
that  article,  and  when  I  got  home  in  the  evening,  I  took  out 
my  scissors  in  a  passion  and  cut  a  great  slash  in  the  sides.  I 
was  resolved  I  would  not  be  squeezed  to  death  for  all  the  Ton 
in  the  world. 

10.  And,  moreover,  the  Ton  is  not  satisfied  with  tearing 
the  hair  out  of  our  heads,  with  pinching  our  feet,  and  squeez- 

*  Steward. 


256  SANDERS'    NEW    SERIES. 

ing  the  pit  of  our  stomach,  but  we  must  have  manners  which, 
under  favor,  sir,  I  think  very  odd,  and  which  my  grandmother 
(I  was  bred  up  at  my  grandmother's)  would  have  whipped 
me  for, — that  she  would,  if  I  had  ventured  to  show  them 
when  I  was  with  her.  I  am  told  that  none  but  a  ninny  would 
look  down  in  the  sheepish  way  I  do ;  but  that,  when  I  meet  a 
gentleman  in  our  walks,  I  must  look  as  full  at  him  as  I  can, 
to  show  my  eyes,  and  laugh,  to  show  my  teeth  (all  our  family 
have  white  teeth),  and  flourish  my  ratteen  to  show  my  shapes. 

11.  And  though  in  a  room  I  am  to  speak  as  low  and 
mumbling  as  I  can,  to  look  as  if  I  did  not  care  whether  I  was 
heard  or  not ;  yet  in  a  public  place  I  am  to  talk  as  loud  and 
as  fast  as  possible,  and  call  the  men  by  their  plain  surnames, 
and  tell  all  about  our  last  night's  parties,  and  a  great  many 
other  things,  Mr.  Lounger,  which  I  can't  do  for  the  heart  of 
me  ;  but  my  sister-in-law  comes  on  amazingly,  as  Miss  Gusto 
says.  But  then  she  has  been  in  India,  and  she  was  not  brought 
up  with  my  grandmother.  I  protest,  though  I  would  be 
ashamed  to  let  Miss  Gusto  know  it,  that  often,  when  I  am 
wishing  to  practice  some  of  her  lessons,  I  think  I  see  my 
grandmother,  with  her  bunch  of  keys  at  her  apron-string,  her 
amber-headed  stick  in  the  one  hand,  and  her  Ladies'  Calling 
in  the  other,  looking  at  me  from  under  her  spectacles  with  such 
a  frown,  Mr.  Lounger,  it  frightens  me  quite  out  of  my  head. 

12.  After  all,  I  am  apt  to  believe  that  the  very  great  trouble 
and  the  many  inconveniences  to  which  we  put  ourselves 
to  attain  this  distinction  of  the  Ton,  are,  in  a  great  measure, 
labor  in  vain ;  that  our  music,  our  dancing,  and  our  good- 
breeding  will,  perhaps,  be  out  of  fashion  before  we  have  come 
to  any  degree  of  perfection  in  all  or  any  of  these  accomplish- 
ments ;  for  some  of  the  fine  ladies  and  fine  gentlemen  who 
visit  us,  say  that  the  Ton  here  is  no  Ton  at  all,  for  that  the 
true  and  genuine  Ton  (like  the  true  and  genuine  MilJc  of 
Moses)  is  only  to  be  found  in  London. 

13.  Nay,  some  of  the  finest  of  those  fine  ladies  and  gentle- 
men go  a  step  further,  and  inform  us  that  the  Ton  of  London 


YOUNG     LADIES'     READER.  257 

itself  is  mere  twattle^  and  that  the  only  right  Ton  is  to  be 
found  in  Paris.  I  hope  in  goodness,  however,  that  my  sister, 
if  she  is  determined,  as  she  sometimes  hints,  to  chase  the  Ton 
that  length,  will  drop  me  by  the  way,  or,  rather,  allow  me  to 
return  again  to  the  country.  Old  sparrows  (the  proverb  says, 
Mr.  Lounger,)  are  ill  to  tame.  Not  that  I  am  old,  neither ; 
but  I  believe  I  am  not  quite  young  enough  to  learn  to  be  happy 
in  the  sort  of  life  we  lead  here ;  and  though  I  try  all  I  can 
to  think  it  a  happy  one,  and  I  am  sure  to  say  so  in  every 
J.  lace  to  which  we  go,  yet  I  can't  help  often  secretly  wishing 
I  were  back  again  at  my  father's,  where  I  should  not  be 
obliged  to  be  happy  whether  I  would  or  not. 

Your   afflicted    (if   I   may   venture   to    say   so),   humble 
servant, 

Marjory  Mushroom. 


EXERCISE    LXXXV. 

THE   PILGRIM. 

FROM  THK  GERMAN  OF  SCHILLER,  BY  BULWEB, 

1       Youth's  gay  spring-time  scarcely  knowing, 

Went  I  forth  the  world  to  roam, — 
And  the  dance  of  youth,  the  glowing, 

Left  I  in  my  father's  home. 
Of  my  birth-right — glad, — ^believing,— 

Of  my  world-gear  took  I  none, 
Careless  as  an  infant,  cleaving 

To  my  pilgrim-staiF  alone. 

2.      Eor  I  placed  my  mighty  hope  in 

Dim  and  holy  words  of  faith, 
"  Wander  forth — the  way  is  open, 

Ever  on  the  upward  path — 
Till  thou  gain  the  golden  portal, 

Till  its  gate  unclose  to  thee, 


258  SA.NDERS       NEW     SERIES, 

Theie  the  earthly  and  the  mortal, 
Deathless  and  divine  shall  be." 

3.  Night  on  morning  stole,  and  stealeth, 

Never,  never  stand  I  still, 
And  the  future  yet  concealeth 

What  I  seek,  and  what  I  will ! 
Mount  on  mount  arose  before  me, 

Torrents  hemmed  me  every  side. 
But  I  built  a  bridge  that  bore  me 

O'er  the  roaring  tempest  tide. 

4.  Toward  the  East  I  reached  a  river, 

On  its  shores  I  did  not  rest ; 
Faith  from  danger  can  deliver, 

And  I  trusted  to  its  breast. 
Drifted  in  the  whirling  motion, 

Seas  themselves  around  me  roll, — 
Wide  and  wider  spreads  the  ocean, 

Far  and  farther  flies  the  goal. 
While  I  live  is  never  given 

Bridge  or  wave  the  goal  to  near — 
Earth  will  never  meet  the  Heaven, 

Never  can  the  There  be  Here  ! 


EXERCISE    LXXXVI. 

ODE  TO   CONTENTMENT. 

Lovely,  lasting  peace  of  mind  ! 
Sweet  delight  of  human  kind ! 
Heavenly  born,  and  bred  on  high. 
To  crown  the  favorites  of  the  sky 
With  more  of  happiness  below, 
Than  victors  in  a  triumph  know ! 


YOUNG    LADIES'  EEADEB.  269 

Whither,  O  whither  art  thou  fled, 
To  lay  thy  meek,  contented  head ; 
What  happy  region  dost  thou  please 
To  make  the  seat  of  calms  and  ease  ? 

2.  Ambition  searches  all  its  sphere 
Of  pomp  and  state,  to  meet  thee  there. 
Increasing  avarice  would  find 
Thy  presence  in  its  gold  enshrined. 
The  bold  adventurer  plows  his  way, 
Through  rocks  amidst  the  foaming  sea, 
To  gain  thy  love ;  and  then  perceives 
Thou  wert  not  in  the  rocks  and  waves. 
The  silent  heart,  which  grief  assails, 
Treads  soft  and  lonesome  o'er  the  vales, 
Sees  daisies  open,  rivers  run. 
And  seeks  (as  I  have  vainly  done) 
Amusing  thought ;  but  learns  to  know 
That  Solitude  's  the  nurse  of  woe. 

3.  No  real  happiness  is  found 
In  trailing  purple  o'er  the  ground ; 
Or,  in  a  soul  exalted  high. 
To  range  the  circuit  of  the  sky. 
Converse  with  stars  above,  and  know 
All  nature  in  its  forms  below  ; 
The  rest  it  scelvs,  in  seeking  dies, 
And  doubts,  at  last,  for  knowledge  rise. 

4.  Lovely,  lasting  peace,  appear ! 
This  world  itself,  if  thou  art  here, 
Is  once  again  with  Eden  blest. 
And  man  contains  it  in  his  breast. 

5.  'Twas  thus,  as  under  shade  I  stood, 
I  sung  my  wishes  to  the  wood. 


260  SANDERS'    NEW    SERIES. 

And,  lost  in  thought,  no  more  perceived 
The  branches  whisper  as  they  waved  ; 
It  seemed  as  all  the  quiet  place 
Confessed  the  presence  of  the  grace. 
When  thus  she  spoke — "  Go  rule  thy  will, 
Bid  thy  wild  passions  all  be  still ; 
Know  God — and  bring  thy  heart  to  know 
The  joys  which  from  religion  flow ; 
Then  every  grace  shall  prove  its  guest, 
And  I  '11  be  there  to  crown  the  rest." 

6.  O !  by  yonder  mossy  seat, 

In  my  hours  of  sweet  retreat, 
Might  I  thus  my  soul  employ, 
With  sense  of  gratitude  and  joy. 
Raised  as  ancient  prophets  were, 
In  heavenly  vision,  praise,  and  prayer ; 
Pleasing  all  men,  hurting  none. 
Pleased  and  blessed  with  God  alone : 
Then,  while  the  gardens  take  my  sight, 
With  all  the  colors  of  delight, — 
While  silver  waters  glide  along, 
To  please  my  ear  and  court  my  song, — 
I  '11  lift  my  voice  and  tune  my  string, 
AnH  Thee,  great  Source  of  nature,  sing. 

7  The  sun  that  walks  his  airy  way. 

To  light  the  world,  and  give  the  day, 
The  moon  that  shines  with  borrowed  light, 
The  stars  that  gild  the  gloomy  night. 
The  seas  that  roll  unnumbered  waves, 
The  wood  that  spreads  its  shady  leaves, 
The  field  whose  ears  conceal  the  grain. 
The  yellow  treasure  of  the  plain,— 
All  of  these,  and. all  I  see. 
Should  be  sung,  and  sung  by  me : 


YOUNG     LADIES'    READER.  261 

They  speak  their  Maker  as  they  can, 
But  want  and  ask  the  tongue  of  man. 
Go  search  among  your  idle  dreams, 
Your  busy  or  your  vain  extremes ; 
And  find  a  life  of  equal  bliss. 
Or  own  the  next  begun  in  this. 


EXERCISE    LXXXVII 


THE    LITTLE   WORD,— NO. 

MEECHAirrs'  LEDGSB. 

1.  A  very  little  word  is  No.  It  is  composed  of  but  two 
letters,  and  only  forms  a  syllable.  In  meaning  it  is  so  definite 
as  to  defy  misunderstanding.  Young  lips  find  its  articulation 
easy.  Any  child  can  spell  it.  Unlike  some  words  of  learned 
length,  spoken  only  on  rare  occasions,  its  use  is  common  and 
familiar.  Not  an  hour  passes  in  company,  but  we  hear  it  re- 
peated. It  would  be  a  task  to  carry  on  conversation  for  a 
few  minutes  without  its  aid. 

2.  Diminutive  in  size,  evident  in  import,  easy  of  utterance, 
frequent  in  use,  and  necessary  in  ordinary  speech,  it  seems 
one  of  the  simplest  and  most  harmless  of  all  words.  Yet 
there  are  those  to  whom  it  is  almost  a  terror.  Its  sound 
makes  them  afraid.  Upon  their  lips,  when  forced  to  pro- 
nounce it,  it  hangs  heavily  as  lead.  They  would  expurgate  it 
from  their  vocabulary  if  they  could.  An  easy  and  good- 
natured  class  of  people  they  are.  They  like  always  to  agree 
with  their  friends.  To  them  the  language  of  contradiction  is 
uncongenial.  The  ranks  of  disputants  obtain  from  them  few 
recruits.  They  can  not  differ  from  others  without  a  painful 
effort,  which  they  seldom  make. 

3.  It  is  in  their  nature  to  drift  down  the  stream,  rather  than 
resist  the  current.  When  urged  to  any  thing  by  companions, 
they  find  it  all  but  impossible  to  say — No.     The  little  mono- 


262  SANDERS'     NEW     SERIES. 

syllable  sticks  in  their  throat.  Their  pliable  and  easy  tem- 
per inclines  them  to  conformity,  and  frequently  works  their 
bane.  Assailed  by  the  solicitations  of  pleasure,  they  are 
sure  to  yield,  for  at  once  and  resolutely  they  will  not  repeat 

4.  Plied  with  the  intoxicating  cup,  they  seldom  overcome, 
for  their  facile  nature  refuses  to  express  itself  in — No.  En- 
countering temptation  in  the  hard  and  duteous  path,  they  are 
likely  to  falter  and  fall,  for  they  have  not  boldness  to  speak 
out  the  decided  negative — No. 

5.  Amid  the  mists  of  time,  and  involved  in  the  labyrinth 
me  mazes  of  error,  they  are  liable  to  forget  eternal  verities, 
and  join  the  ribald  jest,  for  they  have  not  been  accustomed  to 
utter  an  emphatic — No.  Their  talents  may  be  of  a  high  or- 
der, their  disposition  amiable  and  generous,  and  their  pros- 
pects flattering ;  but  this  one  weakness  may,  at  any  time,  prove 
fatal  to  their  hopes. 

6.  All  the  noble  souls  and  heroes  of  history  have  held 
themselves  ready,  whenever  it  was  demanded,  to  say — No. 
The  warrior  said — No  to  the  obstacles  which  threatened  the 
success  of  his  arms,  and  rose  against  them  in  his  might,  and 
made  them  as  the  dust  of  his  feet.  The  statesman  said — No 
to  the  imperious  and  insulting  demands  of  an  excited  popu- 
lace or  a  foreign  foe,  and  devised  the  plans  by  which  the  lan- 
guage of  demand  was  exchanged  for  the  language  of  entreaty 
and  supplication. 

7.  The  poet  said — No  to  the  sloth  and  indolence  which 
consumed  his  precious  hours,  and  wove  for  himself,  in  heaven- 
ly song,  a  garland  of  immortality.  The  martyred  hosts  said 
— No  to  the  Pagan  powers  that  demanded  a  recantation  of 
their  faith,  and  swift  from  the  fire  and  the  torture  their  souls 
uprose  to  the  rewards  and  beatitude  of  heaven.  The  greatest 
and  best  of  all  that  ever  trod  our  earth,  the  Holy  One  him- 
self, was  incessant  in  his  labors  of  self-denial,  and  even  there- 
by he  won  the  honors  of  his  cross.  Great  men  have  grown 
great  by  repeating  No  at  every  step  of  their  progress.     To 


YOUiJ^G    LADIES'  KEADEE.  263 

ease,  to  inglorious  joyance,  to  pleasure,  to  hardship,  they  said 

^  8.  In  the  slow  advancement  of  mankind — No  has  ever 
proved  a  word  of  power.  Before  it,  Error  consecrated  by  an- 
tiquity, has  fallen,  and  Truth  has  risen  in  her  splendor.  Every 
falsehood  refuted  and  denied  is  a  step  to  truth  ;  every  impedi 
ment  vanquished,  an  advance  to  greatness.  It  is  but  fair  to 
observe;  however,  that  even  in  the  use  of  this  word  there 
may  be  an  abuse. 

9.  As  there  are  minds  too  pliable  and  gentle,  so  there  are 
others  too  dogmatic  and  contradictory.  On  little  occasions, 
and  for  trifling  reasons,  one  may  acquire  a  vile  and  disagree- 
able habit  of  dispute  and  denial.  In  things  of  no  moral  or 
practical  account,  it  is  wise  to  be  conciliatory  and  compliant. 
The  most  decided  of  men  need  not  be  impolite,  or  unpleasing 
in  society.  But,  when  duty  or  propriety  demands  it,  no  one 
should  be  ashamed  to  speak — No. 

1 0.  "  Few  have  learned  to  speak  this  word 

When  it  should  be  spoken  ; 
Resolution  is  deferred, 
Vows  to  virtue  broken. 

11.  "  More  true  courage  is  required 

This  one  word  to  say. 
Than  to  stand  where  shots  are  fired 
In  the  battle  fray. 

12.  "  Use  it  fitly,  and  ye  '11  see. 

Many  a  lot  below 
May  be  schooled,  and  nobly  ruled, 
By  power  to  utter — '  No.'' 


?  ?> 


Questions  — 1.  What  pause  before  the  word  No,  in  the  above  piece  \ 
See  page  43.  2.  What  kind  of  emphasis  on  should,  tenth  stanza  i 
See  Note  VI.,  page  21. 


264  SANDERS'  NEW    SERIES. 

EXERCISE    LXXXVIII. 
THE   GRAVE. 

LITERAKY   MAGNET. 

1.  There  is  a  mournful  pleasure  in  stealing  from  the  noisy 
haunts  of  life,  at  that  soul-soothing  hour  when  the  twilight 
sheds  its  softening  influence  over  each  distant  prospect,  and 
the  last  faint  vestiges  of  the  declining  day  are  vanishing  from 
the  heavens.  It  is  sweet  at  such  a  time  to  stray  into  the 
church-yard  of  some  neighboring  village,  and  pass  an  hour  in 
meditation  over  the  last  narrow  dwelling-place  of  those  who 
are  reclining  beneath  us. 

2.  There  shall  we  be  impressed  with  the  sad  truth,  that 
our  brightest  joys  must  pass  away,  and  that  a  time  will  come, 
when  the  cold  grave  will  receive  us,  and  others  will  pass  over 
our  lowly  bed,  and  bestow  not  a  thought  on  the  moldering 
relics  of  the  mortal  who  lies  beneath  them.  But  we  shall 
rest  calmly  and  peacefully.  Sorrows  will  not  molest  us; 
but  the  breeze  will  moan  a  gentle  dirge  as  it  passes  over  our 
resting-place  ;  and  the  summer  daisy  will  disclose  its  simple 
beauties  among  the  waving  grass  that  springs  in  freshness 
above  our  last  quiet  home. 

3.  (pi.)  Go,  child  of  sorrow,  *o  the  grave,  where  the  gen- 
tle form  is  sleeping  that  was  wont  to  be  thy  companion  ;  who, 
when  the  storm  of  affliction  was  darkly  gathering  around 
thee,  soothed  thy  anguish,  and,  with  the  blandishments  of 
faithful  affection,  cheered  thy  hours  of  sadness.  Go  to  the 
turf  that  flourishes  above  her,  and  recall,  as  in  a  dream,  past 
hours  of  happiness.  Think  of  those  eyes,  beautiful  as  violets, 
where  Love  had  made  his  habitation.  Think  of  that  voice, 
which,  like  the  lute's  soft  music,  thrilled  thy  inmost  soul 
with  its  melody — muse  on  every  fond  endearment,  every 
blissful  hour,  that  once  with  her  was  thy  portion  ;  then  wake 
from  the  enchanting  illusion,  to  know  that,  mixed  with  her 
kindred  dust,  she  can  return  to  thee  no  more. 

4.  And  thou,  who  hast  wept  over  a  parent's  lifeless  form. 


YOUNG     LADIES-     KEADER.  265 


— thou,  who  haat  partaken  of  the  devotedness  of  parental 
love,  and  hast  seen  those  parents,  whose  hopes  were  on  thee, 
snatched  by  the  hand  of  death  suddenly  from  thy  side  ; — do 
thou  go  to  the  church-yard  in  which  they  repose,  and  shed  thy 
bitter  tears  of  sorrow  over  their  grave.  Then,  if  thou  hast 
ever  given  a  pang  to  the  bosom  whereon  thou  wert  nourished, 
— then  will  each  unkindness,  which  thou  mayst,  for  a  time, 
have  forgotten,  rush  into  thy  mind, — and  thou  wilt  weep  more 
sadly,  because  the  conviction  will  be  in  thy  heart,  that  it  is 
vain. 

5.  Thy  tears  can  not  recall  one  moment  of  undutiful  be- 
havior ;  nor  shed  a  balm  over  the  sorrows  of  that  heart 
which  thy  unkindness  has  wounded.  Thou  mayst  pluck  from 
their  turf  the  wild  weeds,  and 

"  Strew  with  flowers  the  dismal  spot ;" 

but  it  will  be  of  no  avail ;  they  have  passed  from  thee  forever, 
and  the  voice  of  thy  sorrow  penetrates  not  into  the  grave, 
but  is  lost  in  the  night-wind  which  sighs  around  it. 


'  There  is  a  calm  for  those  that 


weep, 


and  within  the  silent  tomb  all  will  rest  alike  ;  the  man  who 
has  wandered  through  the  world  deserted  and  forlorn,  with 
none  to  soothe  the  anguish  of  his  heart, — no  hand  to  shield 
him  from  the  blast  of  affliction, — no  voice  to  whisper  in  his 
ear  the  gentle  words  of  friendship,  beneath  the  grassy  turf 
will  rest  as  sweetly  as  he  on  whom  Fortune  has  lavished  her 
proudest  gifts ;  and  the  poor  beggar  who  has  endured  the 
scoffings  of  the  rich,  will  repose  as  calmly  as  that  unfeeling 
mortal  who,  with  a  callous  heart,  spurned  him  from  his 
presence. 

7.  The  maiden  blooming  in  all  the  loveliness  of  youth, — . 
the  aged  man  whose  head  is  silvered  with  the  frosts  of  many 
winters, — the  heart  whose  owner  enjoyed  all  the  blessings  of 
life,  and  they  who  have  drank  deeply  of  the  cup  of  affliction,—^ 

12 


266  SANDERS'    NEW   SEBIES. 

all  must  alike  share  the  quiet  of  the  tomb.  Neither  youth 
nor  beauty  can  stay  the  hand  of  death,  and  often  the  lovely, 
like  the  sweet  flower  of  spring  blighted  by  the  destroying 
blast,  are  the  soonest  to  fade. 

8.  And  then,  too,  many  a  link  of  affection's  chain  will  lie 
scattered.  There  will  repose  the  babe  on  whom  a  parent's 
eyes  have  gazed  in  fondness,  over  whose  gentle  form  a  mother 
has  bent,  and  formed,  in  the  dreaming  of  her  maternal  love 
many  a  scene  of  happiness ;  but 

"All  that 's  bright  must  fade,** 

and,  like  the  rose-bud  on  which  the  canker-worm  has  fed,  be- 
neath the  blighting  hand  of  death,  the  object  of  a  mother's 
hopes  will  exchange  the  warm  resting-place  of  affection  for 
the  dark,  cold  chambers  of  the  grave. 

9.  It  is  then  that  the  widow  muses  upon  the  houis  of  de- 
parted happiness,  which,  contrasted  with  her  present  mourn- 
ful state,  appear  with  increased  charms.  It  is  then  she  in- 
dulges in  those  dreams  which  recall  days  long  since  departed, 
till,  to  use  the  words  of  the  poet, 

"She  thinks 
She  sees  him,  and,  indulging  the  fond  thought, 
Clings  still  more  closely  to  the  senseless  clay  I" 

10.  We  may  gaze  on  the  beautiful  scenes  which  the  lavish 
hand  of  nature  has  formed  around  us,  and  our  thoughts  may 
be  raised  to  heaven,  and  the  prayer  of  thanksgiving  and  grati- 
tude flow  from  our  tongues  ;  but  it  is  only  above  the  resting- 
place  of  the  silent  dead  that  the  musings  of  the  heart  will  • 
turn  to  that  moment  when  the  ray  of  life  will  be  extinguished, 
and  we  shall  depart  from  this  vale  of  tears,  "  even  as  a  sum 
mer  cloud  which  passeth  away,  and  returi  eth  not," 


YOUNG    LADIES'    EEADER.  267 


EXERCISE    LXXXIX. 
ELEGY  WRITTEN  IN  A   COUNTRY   CHURCH-YARD. 

GRAT. 

1.  The  curfew  tolls  the  knell  of  parting  day ; 

The  lowing  herds  wind  slowly  o'er  the  lea ; 

The  plowman  homeward  plods  his  weary  way, 

And  leaves  the  world  to  darkness  and  to  me. 

2.  Now  fades  the  glimmering  landscape  on  the  sight, 

And  all  the  air  a  solemn  stillness  holds  ; 
Save  where  the  beetle  wheels  his  droning  flight. 
And  drowsy  tinklings  lull  the  distant  folds : 

8.  Save,  that  ftom  yonder  ivy-mantled  tower. 
The  moping  owl  does  to  the  moon  complain 
Of  such  as,  wand'ring  near  her  secret  bower, 
Molest  her  ancient,  solitary  reign. 

4.  Beneath  those  rugged  elms — ^that  yew-tree's  shade, 

Where  heaves  the  turf  in  many  a  moldering  heap. 
Each  in  his  narrow  cell  forever  laid, 
The  rude  forefathers  of  the  hamlet — sleep. 

5.  The  breezy  call  of  incense-breathing  Mom, 

The  swallow  twittering  from  the  straw-built  shed, 
The  cock's  shrill  clarion,  or  the  echoing  horn. 
No  more  shall  rouse  them  from  their  lowly  bed. 

6.  For  them  no  more  the  blazing  hearth  shall  burn. 

Or  busy  housewife  ply  her  evening  care ; 
Nor  children  run  to  lisp  their  sire's  return. 
Or  climb  his  knees,  the  envied  kiss  to  share. 

7.  Oft  did  the  harvest  to  their  sickle  yield ; 

Their  furrow  oft  the  stubborn  glebe  has  broke.; 


268  SANDERS'  NEW    SERIES. 

How  jocund  did  they  drive  their  team  a-field  ! 

How  bowed  the  woods  beneath  their  sturdy  stroke ! 

8.  Let  not  ambition  mock  their  useful  toil, 

Their  homely  joys  and  destiny  obscure ; 

Nor  grandeur  hear,  with  a  disdainful  smile, 

The  short  and  simple  annals  of  the  poor. 

9.  The  boast  of  heraldry,  the  pomp  of  power. 

And  all  that  beauty,  all  that  wealth  e'er  gave, 
Await,  alike,  the  inevitable  hour — 

The  paths  of  glory  lead — but  to  the  grave. 

10.  Nor  you,  ye  proud,  impute  to  these  the  fault. 

If  Mem'ry  o'er  their  tomb  no  trophies  naise, 
Where,  through  the  long-drawn  aisle  and  fretted  vault. 
The  pealing  anthem  swells  the  note  of  praise. 

11.  Can  storied  urn,  or  animated  bust. 

Back  to  its  mansion  call  the  fleeting  breath  1 
Can  Honor's  voice  provoke  the  silent  dust. 

Or  Flattery  soothe  the  dull,  cold  ear  of  death  1 

12  Perhaps,  in  this  neglected  spot,  is  laid 

Some  heart  once  pregnant  with  celestial  fire  ; 
Hands,  that  the  rod  of  empire  might  have  swayed, 
Or  waked  to  ecstasy  the  living  lyre  : 

13.  But  Knowledge  to  their  eyes  her  ample  page. 

Rich  with  the  spoils  of  time,  did  ne'er  unroll ; 
Chill  penury  repressed  their  noble  rage. 
And  froze  the  genial  current  of  the  soul. 

14.  Full  many  a  gem,  of  purest  ray  serene. 

The  dark,  unfathomed  caves  of  ocean  bear ; 
Full  many  a  flower  is  bom  to  blush  unseen, 
And  waste  its  sweetness  on  the  desert  air. 


YOUNG     LADIES'    READER.  269 

15.  Some  village  Hampden,  that,  with  dauntless  breast, 

The  little  tyrant  of  his  fields  withstood  ; 
Some  mute,  inglorious  Milton,  here  may  rest ; 
Some  Cromwell,  guiltless  of  his  country's  blood. 

16.  Th'  applause  of  listening  senates  to  command, 

The  threats  of  pain  and  ruin  to  despise. 
To  scatter  plenty  o'er  a  smiling  land. 
And  read  their  hist'ry  in  a  nation's  eyes, 

17.  Their  lot  forbade  ;  nor  circumscribed  alone 

Their  growing  virtues,  but  their  crimes  confined  ; 
Forbade  to  wade  through  slaughter  to  a  throne, 
And  shut  the  gates  of  mercy  on  mankind ; 

18.  The  struggling  pangs  of  conscious  truth  to  hide, 

To  quench  the  blushes  of  ingenuous  shame  ; 
Or  heap  the  shrine  of  luxury  and  pride, 
With  incense  kindled  at  the  Muse's  flame. 

19.  Far  from  the  madd'ning  crowd's  ignoble  strife, 

Their  sober  wishes  never  learned  to  stray ; 
Along  the  cool,  sequestered  vale  of  life, 
They  kept  the  noiseless  tenor  of  their  way. 

20.  Yet  even  these  bones  from  insult  to  protect, 

Some  frail  memorial  still  erected  nigh. 
With  uncouth  rhymes  and  shapeless  sculpture  decked, 
Implores  the  passing  tribute  of  a  sigh. 

21  Their  name,  their  years,  spelled  by  the  unlettered  ^fuse, 

The  place  of  fame  and  elegy  supply  ; 

And  many  a  holy  text  around  she  strews. 

That  teach  tie  rustic  moralist  to  die. 

22  For  who,  to  dumb  forgetfulness  a  prey. 

This  pleasing,  anxious  being  e'er  resigned ; 


270  SANDERS'    NEW    SERIES. 

Left  the  "warm  precincts  of  the  cheerful  day, 
Nor  cast  one  longing,  ling'ring  look  behind  ? 

23.  On  some  fond  breast  the  parting  soul  relies ; 

Some  pious  drops  the  closing  eye  requires  ; 
Even  from  the  tomb  the  voice  of  Nature  cries, 
Even  in  our  ashes  live  their  wonted  fires. 

24.  For  thee,  who,  mindful  of  the  unhonored  dead, 

Dost  in  these  lines  their  artless  tale  relate. 
If  chance,  hj  lonely  contemplation  led. 

Some  kindred  spirit  shall  inquire  thy  fate  ; 

25.  Haply  some  hoary-headed  swain  may  say, 

"  Oft  have  we  seen  him  at  the  peep  of  dawn, 
Brushing  with  hasty  step  the  dews  away, 
To  meet  the  sun  upon  the  upland  lawn. 

26.  "  There  at  the  foot  of  yonder  nodding  beech. 

That  wreathes  its  old  fantastic  roots  so  high, 
His  listless  length  at  noontide  would  he  stretch, 
And  pore  upon  the  brook  that  bubbles  by. 

27.  "  Hard  by  yon  wood,  now  smiling,  as  in  scorn, 

Mutt'ring  his  wayward  fancies  he  would  rove  : 
Now  drooping,  woeful,  wan,  like  one  forlorn. 
Or  crazed  with  care,  or  crossed  in  hopeless  love. 

28.  "  One  mom  I  missed  him  on  the  accustomed  hill, 

Along  the  heath,  and  near  his  fav'rite  tree ; 
Another  came  ;  nor  yet  beside  the  rill. 
Nor  up  the  lawn,  nor  at  the  wood,  was  he. 

29.  "  The  next,  with  dirges  due,  in  sad  array, 

Slow  through  the  churchyard-path  we  saw  him  borne ; 
Approach  and  read  (for  thou  can'st  read)  the  lay. 
Graved  on  the  stone  beneath  yon  aged  thorn." 


YOUNG    LADIES'    READER.  271 

THE    EPITAPH. 

30.  Here  rests  his  head  upon  the  lap  of  earth, 

A  youth,  to  Fortune  and  to  Fame  unknown  ; 
Fair  Science  frowned  not  on  his  humble  birth, 
And  Melancholy  marked  him  for  her  own. 

81.  Large  was  his  bounty,  and  his  soul  sincere : 
Heaven  did  a  recompense  as  largely  send  : 
He  gave  to  misery  alljie  had— -a  tear, 

He  gained  from  Heaven  {'t  was  all  he  wished)  a  friend. 

32.  No  further  seek  his  merits  to  disclose, 

Or  draw  his  frailties  from  their  dread  abode  ; 
(There  they,  alike,  in  trembling  hope  repose,) 
The  bosom  of  his  Father  and  his  God. 

QuBSTioNS. — 1.  What  pause  after  lead^  ninth  stanza  f    See  page  48. 
2.  Are  the  questions  in  the  eleventh  stanza  direct  or  indirect  I 


EXERCISE  XC. 


1.  A-OEOp'-o-us,  the  highest  part  of  a  city ;  the  citadel ;  especially, 
that  of  ancient  Athens. 

2.  Mae'-a-thon,  a  village  of  Attica,  in  ancient  Greece,  celebrated 
as  the  spot  whereon  a  great  victory  was  gained  by  Miltiades  over 
the  Persians,  B.  C.  490. 

3.  Pla'-tjs-a,  a  town  of  Boeotia,  in  ancient  Greece,  rendered  famous 
by  a  victory  gained  there  by  the  Greeks  over  the  Persians  under 
Mardonius,  B.  C.  479. 

4.  Moe-gae'-tbn,  a  mountain  on  the  eastern  border  of  the  lak« 
^geri,  in  Switzerland,  is  celebrated  for  a  victory  gained  there  in 
1816,  ov€r  Leopold,  the  Arch-duke  of  Austria. 

0.  LAt'-PEN,  the  name  of  a  place  in  Switzerland,  famous  for  a  vic- 
tory achieved  there  in  1339,  by  the  citizens  of  Bern,  over  the  nobles 
who  had  undertaken  to  destroy  their  city. 

6.  Man'-li-us,  and  (7)  Scip'-i-o  Af-ri-oa'-nus,  two  noble  Romans,  the 
Cormer  celebrated  for  preserving  the  Capitol,  when  nearly  taken  by 


272  SANDERS'     NEW     SERIES. 

the  Gauls ;  the  latter,  for  conquering  the  Carthaginians  under  their 
great  leader,  Hannibal,  who  had  once  well-nigh  reduced  Rome  itself 
to  subjection. 

NATIONAL  MONUMENTS. 

ALISON. 

1.  It  is  in  vain,  that  a  nation  may  be  encircled  with  f(^r- 
tresses,  or  defended  by  mountains,  or  begirt  by  the  ocean ; 
its  real  security  is  to  be  found  in  the  spirit  and  the  valor  of  its 
people.  The  army  which  enters  the  field  in  the  conviction, 
that  it  is  to  conquer,  has  already  gained  the  day.  The  people 
who  recollect  with  pride  the  achievements  of  their  forefathers, 
will  not  prove  unworthy  of  them  in  the  field  of  battle. 

2.  The  remembrance  of  their  heroic  actions  preserved  the 
independence  of  the  Swiss  republics,  amidst  the  powerful  em- 
pires by  which  they  were  surrounded  ;  and  the  glory  of  her 
armies,  joined  to  the  terror  of  her  name,  upheld  the  Roman 
empire  for  centuries  after  the  warlike  spirit  of  the  people  was 
extinct.  It  is  this  which  constitutes  the  strength  and  multi- 
plies the  triumphs  of  veteran  soldiers,  and  it  is  this  which 
renders  the  qualities  of  military  valor  and  prowess  hereditary 
in  a  nation. 

3.  Every  people,  accordingly,  whose  achievements  are 
memorable  in  past  history,  have  felt  the  influence  of  these 
national  recollections,  and  received  them  as  the  most  valuable 
inheritance  from  their  forefathers.  The  statesmen  of  Athens, 
when  they  wished  to  rouse  that  fickle  people  to  any  great  or 
heroic  action,  reminded  them  of  the  national  glory  of  their 
ancestors,  and  pointed  to  the  Acropolis,'  crowned  with  the 
monuments  of  their  valor.  Demosthenes,  in  the  most  heart- 
stirring  apostrophe  of  antiquity,  invoked  the  shades  of  those 
who  died  at  Marathon"  and  Platsea^  to  sanctify  the  cause  in 
which  they  were  to  be  engaged. 

4.  The  Swiss  peasants,  for  five  hundred  years  afler  the  es' 
tablishment  of  their  independence,  assembled  on  the  fields  of 
Morgarten^  and  Laupen^,  and  spread  garlands  ov-er  the  graves 
of  the  fallen  warriors,  and  prayed  for  the  souls  of  those  who 


YOUNG     LADIES'    READER.  273 

had  died  for  their  country's  freedom.  The  Romans  attached 
a  superstitious  reverence  to  the  rock  of  the  Capitol,  and 
loaded  its  temples  with  the  spoils  of  the  world,  and  looked 
back,  with  a  mixture  of  veneration  and  pride,  to  the  strug- 
gles which  it  had  witnessed,  and  the  triumphs  •which  it  had 
won. 

5.  So  long  as  Manlius'  remained  in  sight  of  the  Capitol, 
his  enemies  found  it  impossible  to  obtain  a  conviction  of  the 
charges  against  him.  When  Scipio  Africanus'  was  accused 
by  a  faction  in  the  forum,  in  place  of  answering  the  charge, 
he  turned  to  the  Capitol,  and  invited  the  people  to  accompany 
him  to  the  temple  of  Jupiter,  and  return  thanks  for  the  defeat 
of  the  Carthaginians.  Such  was  the  influence  of  local  asso- 
ciations on  that  severe  people ;  and  so  natural  is  it  for  the 
human  mind  to  embody  its  recollections  in  some  external 
object,  and  so  important  an  eifect  are  these  recollections  fitted 
to  have,  when  they  are  perpetually  brought  back  to  the  public 
mind  by  the  sight  of  the  objects  to  which  they  have  been 
attached. 

6.  Tlie  erection  of  a  national  monument,  on  a  scale  suited 
to  the  greatness  of  the  events  it  is  intended  to  commemorate, 
seems  better  calculated  than  any  other  measure  to  perpetuate 
the  spirit  which  the  events  of  our  times  have  awakened  in 
this  country.  It  will  force  itself  on  the  observation  of  the 
most  thoughtless,  and  recall  the  recollection  of  danger  and 
glory,  during  the  slumber  of  peaceful  life, 

7.  Thousands  who  never  would  otherwise  have  cast  a 
thought  upon  the  glory  of  their  country,  will  by  it  be  awak- 
ened to  a  sense  of  what  befits  the  descendants  of  those  great 
men  who  have  died  in  the  cause  of  national  freedom.  While 
it  will  testify  the  gratitude  of  the  nation  to  departed  worth, 
}j  will  serve  at  the  same  time  to  mark  the  distinction  which 
similar  victories  may  win.  Like  the  Roman  Capitol,  it  will 
stand  at  once  the  monument  of  former  greatness  and  the 
pledge  of  future  glory. 

12* 


274t  SANDEKS'  NEW    SERIES. 


EXERCISE   XCI. 

WHERE  SHOULD   THE   SCHOLAR   LIVE? 

LONGFELLOW. 

1.  Where  should  the  scholar  live  1  In  solitude  or  in  society  1 
In  the  green  stillness  of  the  country,  where  he  can  hear  the 
heart  of  nature  beat,  or  in  the  dark,  gray  city,  where  he  can 
hear  and  feel  the  throbbing  heart  of  man  1  I  will  make  an- 
swer for  him,  and  say  in  the  dark,  gray  city.  Oh,  they  do 
greatly  err  who  think,  that  the  stars  are  all  the  poetry  which 
cities  have  ;  and,  therefore,  that  the  poet's  only  dwelling 
should  be  in  sylvan  solitudes,  under  the  green  roof  of 
trees. 

2.  Beautiful,  no  doubt,  are  all  the  forms  of  nature,  when 
transfigured  by  the  miraculous  power  of  poetry ;  hamlets  and 
harvest-fields,  and  nut-brown  waters,  flowing  ever  under  the 
forest,  vast  and  shadowy,  with  all  the  sights  and  sounds  of 
rural  life.  But,  after  all,  what  are  these  but  the  decorations 
and  painted  scenery  in  the  great  theater  of  human  life? 
"What  are  they  but  the  coarse  materials  of  the  poet's  song  1 
Glorious,  indeed,  is  the  world  of  God  around  us,  but 
more  glorious  the  world  of  God  within  us.  There  lies  the 
land  of  song ;  there  lies  the  poet's  native  land. 

3.  The  river  of  life  that  flows  through  streets  tumultuous, 
bearing  along  so  many  gallant  hearts,  so  many  wrecks  of  hu- 
manity ;  the  many  homes  and  households,  each  a  little  world 
in  itself,  revolving  round  its  fireside,  as  a  central  sun ;  all 
forms  of  human  joy  and  suffering,  brought  into  that  narrow 
compass ;  and  to  be  in  this  and  be  a  part  of  this ;  acting, 
thinking,  rejoicing,  sorrowing  with  his  fellow-men ;  such,  such 
should  be  the  poet's  life.  If  he  would  describe  the  world,  he 
should  live  in  the  world.  The  mind  of  the  scholar,  also,  ii 
you  would  have  it  large  and  liberal,  should  come  in  contact 
with  other  minds.  It  is  better  that  his  armor  should  be 
somewhat  bruised  even  by  rude  encounters,  than  hung  forever 
resting  on  the  wall. 


YOUNG    LADIES'  READER.  275 


4.  Nor  will  his  themes  be  few  or  trivial,  because  apparent' 
ly  shut  in  between  the  walls  of  houses,  and  having  merely 
the  decorations  of  street  scenery.  A  ruined  character  is  as 
picturesque  as  a  ruined  castle.  There  are  dark  abysses  and 
yawning  gulfs  in  the  human  heart,  which  can  be  rendered 
passable  only  by  bridging  them  over  with  iron  nerves  and 
sinews,  as  Challey  bridged  the  Sarine  in  Switzerland,  and 
Telford  the  sea  between  Anglesea  and  England,  with  chain 
bridges.  These  are  the  great  themes  of  human  thought ;  not 
green  grass,  and  flowers,  and  moonlight.  Besides,  the  mere 
external  forms  of  nature  we  make  our  own,  and  carry  with 
us  into  the  city,  by  the  power  of  memory. 


EXERCISE    XCII 

THE   BELFRY   PIGEON". 


N.  P.  wiLua. 

On  the  cross-beam  under  the  Old  South  bell, 
The  nest  of  a  pigeon  is  builded  well. 
In  summer  and  winter  that  bird  is  there, 
Out  and  in  with  the  morning  air ; 
I  love  to  see  him  track  the  street, 
With  his  wary  eye  and  active  feet ; 
And  I  often  watch  him  as  he  springs, 
Circling  the  steeple  with  easy  wings, 
Till  across  the  dial  his  shade  has  pass'd, 
And  the  belfry  edge  is  gain'd  at  last. 
'T  is  a  bird  I  love,  with  its  brooding  note. 
And  the  trembling  throb  in  its  mottled  throat; 
There 's  a  human  look  in  its  swelling  breast, 
And  the  gentle  curve  of  its  lowly  crest ; 
And  I  often  stop  with  the  fear  I  feel, 
He  runs  so  dose  to  the  rapid  wheel. 


276  SANDERS'  NEW    SERIES. 

2.  Whatever  is  rung  on  that  noisy  bell- 
Chime  of  the  hour,  or  funeral  knell — 
The  dove  in  the  belfry  must  hear  it  well. 

When  the  tongue  swings  out  to  the  midnight  moon, 
When  the  sexton  cheerily  rings  for  noon, 
When  the  clock  strikes  clear  at  morning  light, 
When  the  child  is  waked  with  "  nine  at  night," 
When  the  chimes  play  soft  in  the  Sabbath  air 
Filling  the  spirit  with  tones  of  prayer,-?- 
Whatever  tale  in  the  bell  is  heard, 
He  broods  on  his  folded  feet  unstirred  , 
Or,  rising  half  in  his  rounded  nest. 
He  takes  the  time  to  smooth  his  breast, 
Then  drops  again,  with  filmed  eyes, 
And  sleeps  as  the  last  vibration  dies. 

3.  Sweet  bird  !  I  would  that  I  could  be 
A  hermit  in  the  crowd  like  thee  ! 
With  wings  to  fly  to  wood  and  glen  ! 
Thy  lot,  like  mine,  is  cast  with  men ; 
And  daily,  with  unwilling  feet, 

I  tread,  like  thee,  the  crowded  street ; 
But,  unlike  me,  when  day  is  o'er. 
Thou  canst  dismiss  the  world,  and  soar. 
Or,  at  a  half-felt  wish  for  rest. 
Canst  smooth  thy  feathers  on  thy  breast. 
And  drop,  forgetful,  to  thy  nest. 

4.  I  would  that,  in  such  wings  of  gold, 
I  could  my  weary  heart  upfold  ; 

I  would  I  could  look  down  unmoved, 
(Unloving  as  I  am  unloved,) 
And,  while  the  world  throngs  on  beneath, 
Smooth  down  njy  caress  and  calmly  breathe; 


YOUNG     LADIES'    HEADER.  277 

And  never  sad  with  others'  sadness, 
And  never  glad  with  others'  gladness, 
Listen,  unstirred,  to  knell  or  chime. 
And,  lapped  in  quiet,  bide  my  time. 


EXERCISE    XCIII. 
THE  STORMY   PETREL. 


PAUK   BENJA'^IN. 


1  This  is  the  bird  that  sweeps  o'«r  the  sea — 
Eearless  and  rapid  and  strong  is  he  ; 

He  never  forsakes  the  billowy  roar 
To  dwell  in  calm  on  the  tranquil  shore. 
Save  when  his  mate  from  the  tempest 's  shocks 
Protects  her  young  in  the  splintered  rocks. 

2  Birds  of  the  sea,  they  rejoice  in  storms ; 

On  the  top  of  the  wave  you  may  see  their  forms ; 
They  run  and  dive,  and  they  whirl  and  fly. 
Where  the  glittering  foam-spray  breaks  on  high ; 
And  against  the  force  of  the  strongest  gale, 
Like  phantom  ships,  they  soar  and  sail. 

3.  All  over  the  ocean,  far  from  land. 

When  the  storm-king  rises  dark  and  grand, 
The  mariner  sees  the  petrel  meet 
The  fathomless  waves  with  steady  feet. 
And  a  tireless  wing  and  a  dauntless  breast, 
Without  a  home  or  a  hope  of  rest. 

4.  So,  mid  the  contest  and  toil  of  life, 

My  soul !  when  the  billows  of  rage  and  strife 
Are  tossing  high,  and  the  heavenly  blue 
Is  shrouded  by  vapors  of  somber  hue — 
Like  the  petrel,  wheeling  o'er  foam  and  spray, 
Onward  and  upward  pursue  thy  way ! 


278  SANDERS'    NEW   SERIES. 


EXERCISE    XCIV. 
COMMUNINGS  OF  NATURE. 


POLLOK. 


1.  Pleasant  were  many  scenes,  but  most  to  me 
The  solitude  of  vast  extent,  untouched 
By  hand  of  art,  where  Nature  showed  herself, 
And  reaped  her  crops  \  whose  garments  were  the  clouds ; 
Whose  minstrels,  brooks  ;  whose  lamps,  the  moon  and  stars ; 
Whose  organ-choir,  the  voice  of  many  waters ; 
Whose  banquets,  morning  dews  ;  whose  heroes,  storms  ; 
Whose  warriors,  mighty  winds  ;  whose  lovers,  flowers ; 
Whose  orators,  the  thunderbolts  of  God ; 
Whose  palaces,  the  everlasting  hills  ; 
Whose  ceiling,  heaven's  unfathomable  blue ; 
And  from  whose  rocky  turrets,  battled  high, 
Prospect  immense  spread  out  on  all  sides  round. 
Lost  now  between  the  welkin  and  the  main. 
Now  walled  with  hills  that  slept  above  the  storm. 

2.  Most  fit  was  such  a  place  for  musing  men. 
Happiest  sometimes  when  musing  without  aim. 
It  was,  indeed,  a  wondrous  sort  of  bliss 
The  lonely  bard  enjoyed  when  forth  he  walked, 
Unpurposed ;  stood,  and  knew  not  why ;  sat  down^ 
And  knew  not  where  ;  arose,  and  knew  not  when , 
Had  eyes,  and  saw  not ;  ears,  and  nothing  heard  ; 
And  sought — sought   neither  heaven  nor    earth — sought 

naught. 
Nor  meant  to  think ;  but  ran  mean  time  through  vast 
Of  visionary  things,  fairer  than  aught 
That  was ;  and  saw  the  distant  tops  of  thoughts. 
Which  men  of  common  stature  never  saw. 
Greater  than  aught  that  largest  worlds  could  hold, 
Or  give  idea  of  to  those  who  read. 


YOUNG    LADIES'  REA-DER.  279 

3  He  entered  into  Nature's  holy  place, 
Her  inner  chamber,  and  beheld  her  face 
Unvailed ;  and  heard  unutterable  things, 
And  incommunicable  visions  saw ; 
Things  then  unutterable,  and  visions  then 
Of  incommunicable  glory  bright ; 
But  by  the  lips  of  after  ages  formed 
To  words,  or  by  their  pencil  pictured  forth ; 
Who,  entering  further  in,  beheld  again. 
And  heard  unspeakable  and  marvelous  things, 
Which  other  ages,  in  their  turn,  revealed. 
And  left  to  others  greater  wonders  still. 


EXERCISE    XCV 


1.  Ba'-ron  Cu'-vier,  the  most  eminent  naturalist  of  modem  times, 
was  born  at  Montbeliard,  in  the  duchy  of  Wirtemberg,  in  IT 69. 

2.  Bi'-MANE,  (bi,  two,  and  mane,  hand,)  having  two  hands. 

MAN. 

KIRBT. 

1.  After  traversing  the  whole  Animal  Kingdom,  from  its 
very  lowest  grades,  and  having  arrived  at  Man,  who  confess- 
edly stands  at  the  head,  and  is  the  only  visible  king  and  lord 
of  all  the  rest,  it  will  be  expected  that  I  should  devote  a  few 
pages  to  the  world's  master. 

2.  Baron  Cuvier,'  with  great  propriety,  places  him  by  him- 
self in  a  separate  order,  distinguished  from  that  which  suc- 
ceeds it,  in  his  system,  by  the  significant  appellation  of  Bimane^ 
indicating  that  his  two  hands  are  the  instruments  by  which  he 
subdues  and  governs  the  planet  that  he  inhabits ;  by  which, 
also,  he  is  enabled  to  embody  his  conceptions,  and,  as  it  were, 
to  convert  his  thoughts  into  material  substances. 

3.  I  shall  consider  him  both  physically  and  metaphysically ; 
physically  as  to  his  actual  position,  and  b»  to  his  action  upon 


280  SANDERS'  NEW    SERIES. 

his  subjects  and  property,  whether  vegetable  or  animal ;  and 
metaphysically  as  to  his  connection  with  that  world,  to  which 
his  mind  or  spirit  belongs.  When  I  say  that  man  stands  at 
the  head  of  the  creation,  I  do  not  mean  to  affirm,  that  he  com- 
bines in  himself  every  physical  attribute  in  perfection,  that  is 
found  in  all  the  animals  below  him  ;  for  it  is  manifest  to  every 
one,  that  many  of  them  far  exceed  him  in  the  perfection  of 
many  of  their  organs,  and  in  their  qualities  of  various  kinds. 

4.  For  sight,  he  can  not  compete  with  the  eagle  ;  for  scent, 
with  the  hound,  or  the  shark ;  for  swiftness,  with  the  roebuck  ; 
for  strength  and  bulk,  with  the  elephant ;  but  it  is  in  his 
MIND  that  his  superiority  lies.  There  is  in  him  a  spirit,  an 
immaterial  substance,  which  constitutes  him  the  sole  represent- 
ative here  on  earth  of  the  Spirit  of  Spirits.  ' 

5.  He  is  the  only  member  of  the  animal  kingdom  that  par- 
takes both  of  a  heavenly  and  of  an  earthly  nature, — that  be- 
longs both  to  a  material  and  an  immaterial  world  ;  and,  on 
this  account,  it  was,  that  God,  when  he  had  created  man,  con- 
stituted him  king  over  the  whole  sphere  of  animals,  with  which 
he  had  peopled  this  globe  that  we  inhabit.  When  his  un- 
happy  fall  took  place,  the  Divine  Image  was  impaired,  and, 
consequently,  the  dominion  over  those  creatures,  which  formed 
a  part  of  it,  was  proportionably  weakened,  and  reduced  to  its 
present  standard. 

6.  But  still,  though  weakened,  it  is  not  abrogated  ;  his  sub- 
jects have  not  universally  broken  the  yoke  and  burst  the 
bonds  of  his  dominion, — a  large  portion  of  them  still  ac- 
knowledge him  as  their  king  and  master,  and  those  that  he 
has  not  subdued  so  as  to  make  them  do  his  bidding,  still  fear 
him  and  flee  him  ;  and  even  of  these,  there  is  none  so  fierce 
and  intractable,  that  he  has  not  found  means  to  tame  and 
subdue.  And  this  is  the  position,  in  which  he  now  stands  with 
respect  to  the  animal  kingdom ;  he  has  that  within  him,  that 
enables  him  to  master  them,  and  apply  such  of  t^iem  as  are 
of  a  convertible  nature,  if  I  may  so  speak,  to  work  J  lis  will 
and  answer  his  purpose. 


YOUNG     LADIES'     READER.  281 

7.  The  functions  of  man,  with  regard  to  the  worli  in  which 
he  is  now  placed,  are  all  included  in  his  action  upon  the  sphere 
of  animals  and  vegetables,  and  in  their  re-action  upon  him. 
If  we  survey  all  nature,  wherever  we  turn  our  eyes,  or  wher- 
ever we  direct  our  thoughts,  we  see  the  action  of  antagonist 
powers,  a  flux  and  reflux,  by  which  the  Great  Builder  of  the 
universe  supports  the  vast  machine,  and  maintains  all  the  mo- 
tions that  he  has  generated  in  it.  The  same  principle  is  at 
work  in  every  description  of  beings  in  our  own  planet ;  every 
action  of  man  upon  any  object  of  the  world  without  him, 
produces  a  re-action  from  that  object,  attended  often  by  im- 
portant results. 

8.  The  action  of  man  upon  the  world  without  him,  is  three- 
fold. His  first  action  upon  them  is,  that  of  the  mind  to  con- 
template them,  so  as  to  gain  a  knowledge  of  their  forms  and 
structure — of  their  habits  and  instincts — of  their  meaning  and 
uses.  His  second  action  upon  them,  having  studied  their  na- 
tures, and  discovered  how  they  may  be  made  profitable  to 
him,  is  to  collect  and  multiply  such  species  as  he  finds  will, 
in  any  way,  answer  his  purpose.  His  third  action  upon  them 
is  to  diminish,  and  keep  within  due  limits  those  species  that 
experience  teaches  him,  are  noxious  and  prejudicial,  either  to 
himself  or  those  animals  that  he  has  taken  into  alliance  with 
him,  which  are  principal  sources  of  wealth  to  him,  and  minis- 
ter to  his  daily  use,  comfort  and  enjoyment, 

9.  The  highest  view  that  we  can  take  of  man,  is  that  which 
looks  upon  him  as  belonging  to  a  spiritual  as  well  as  a  mate- 
rial world.  The  end  of  the  creation  of  the  earth,  says  the 
father  and  founder*  of  natural  history,  is  the  glory  of  God, 
from  the  works  of  nature,  by  man  only.  And,  as  the  same 
pious  author  observes :  "  How  contemptible  is  man,  if  he  does 
not  aim  at  this  end  of  his  creation — if  he  does  not  strive  to  raise 
himself  above  the  low  pursuits  that  usually  occupy  his  mind!" 

10.  The  heavens,  indeed,  declare  the  glory  of  God,  and 
the  firmament  showetb  the  work  of  his  hands.     Day  unto 

•  Linnfieus. 


SANDEKS'    NEW    SERIES. 


day  uttereth  speech,  and  night  unto  night  showeth  knowledge. 
The  beasts  of  the  field  honor  him,  and  all  creatures  that  he 
hath  made  glorify  him.  But  man  must  study  the  book  open 
before  him ;  and  the  more  he  studies  it,  the  more  audible  to 
him  will  be  the  general  voice  to  his  spiritual  ear,  and  he  will 
clearly  perceive,  that  every  created  thing  glorifies  God  in  its 
place,  by  fulfilling  his  will,  and  the  great  purpose  of  his  provi- 
dence ;  but  that  he  himself  alone  can  give  a  tongue  to  every 
feature,  and  pronounce  for  all  a  general  doxology. 


EXERCISE  XCVI. 


THE  MODERN  NAVIGATOR. 

EDWARD   EVERETT. 

1.  You  behold  a  majestic  vessel,  bounding  over  the  bil- 
lows, from  the  other  side  of  the  globe ;  easily  fashioned  to 
float,  in  safety,  over  the  boundless  sea;  to  spread  out  her 
broad  wings,  and  catch  the  midnight  breeze,  guided  by  a 
single  drowsy  sailor  at  the  helm,  with  two  or  three  compan- 
ions reclining  listlessly  on  the  deck,  gazing  into  the  depths  of 
the  starry  heavens.  The  commander  of  this  vessel,  not  sur- 
passing thousands  of  his  brethren  in  intelligence  and  skill, 
knows  how,  by  pointing  his  glass  at  the  heavens,  and  taking 
an  observation  of  the  stars,  and  turning  over  the  leaves  of 
his  "  Practical  Navigator,"  and  making  a  few  figures  on  his 
slate,  to  tell  the  spot  which  his  vessel  has  reached  on  the 
trackless  sea  ;  and  he  can,  also,  tell  by  means  of  a  steel 
sprmg  and  a  few  brass  wheels,  put  together  in  the  shape  of  a 
chronometer. 

2.  The  glass,  with  which  he  brings  the  heavens  down  to  the 
earth,  and  by  which  he  measures  the  twenty-one  thousand  six 
hundredth  part  of  their  circuit,  is  made  of  a  quantity  of  flint, 
sand,  and  alkali, — coarse  opaque  substances,  which  he  has 
melted  together  into  the  beautifiil  medium  which  excludes 
the  air  and  the  rain,  and  admits  the  light ;  by  means  of  which 


i 


YOUNG    LADIES'  HEADER.  283 

he  can  count  the  orders  of  animated  nature  in  a  dew-drop, 
and  measure  the  depth  of  the  valleys  in  the  moon.  He  has, 
running  up  and  down  his  main-mast,  an  iron  chain,  fabricated 
at  home,  by  a  wonderful  succession  of  mechanical  contriv- 
ances, out  of  a  rock  brought  from  the  deep  caverns  of  the 
earth,  and  which  has  the  power  of  conducting  the  lightning 
harmlessly  down  the  sides  of  the  vessel  into  the  deep. 

3.  He  does  not  creep  timidly  along,  from  headland  to 
headland,  nor  guide  his  course  across  a  narrow  sea  by  the 
north  star ;  but  he  launches  bravely  on  the  pathless  and  bot- 
tomless deep,  and  carries  about  with  him,  in  a  box,  a  faithful 
little  pilot,  who  watches  when  the  eye  of  man  droops  with 
fatigue,  a  small  and  patient  steersman,  whom  darkness  does 
not  blind,  nor  the  storm  drive  from  his  post,  and  who  points 
from  the  other  side  of  the  globe — through  the  convex  earth — 
to  the  steady  pole. 

4.  If  he  falls  in  with  a  pirate,  he  does  not  wait  to  repel 
him  hand  to  hand ;  but  he  puts  into  a  mighty  engine  a  hand- 
ful of  dark  powder,  into  which  he  has  condensed  an  immense 
quantity  of  elastic  air,  and  which,  when  touched  by  a  spark 
of  fire,  will  instantly  expand  into  its  original  volume,  and 
drive  an  artificial  thunderbolt  before  it  against  the  distant 
enemy. 

5.  When  he  meets  another  similar  vessel  on  the  sea,  home- 
ward-bound from  a  like  excursion  to  his  own,  he  makes  a  few 
black  marks  on  a  piece  of  paper,  and  sends  it  home,  a  dis- 
tance of  ten  thousand  miles,  and  thereby  speaks  to  his  em- 
ployer, to  his  family,  and  his  friends,  as  distinctly  and  signifi- 
cantly, as  if  they  were  seated  by  his  side. 

6.  At  the  cost  of  half  the  labor,  with  which  the  savage 
procures  himself  the  skin  of  a  wild  beast  to  cover  his  naked- 
ness, this  child  of  civilized  life  has  provided  himself  with  the 
most  substantial,  curious,  and  convenient  clothing, — textures 
and  tissues  of  wool,  cotton,  linen,  and  silk, — the  contributions 
of  the  four  quarters  of  the  globe,  and  of  every  kingdom  of 
nature. 


284  SANDERS'     NEW     SERIES. 

7.  To  fill  a  vacant  hour,  or  dispel  a  gathering  cloud  from 
his  spirits,  he  has  curious  instruments  of  music,  which  speak 
another  language  of  new  and  strange  significance  to  his  heart, 
which  makes  his  veins  thrill  and  his  eyes  overflow  with 
tears,  without  the  utterance  of  a  word,  and,  with  one  sweet 
succession  of  harmonious  sounds,  sends  his  heart  back,  over 
the  waste  of  waters,  to  the  distant  home,  where  his  wife  and 
his  children  are  gathered  around  the  fireside,  trembling  at  the 
thought,  that  the  storm  which  beats  upon  the  windows  may, 
perhaps,  overtake 'their  beloved  voyager  on  the  distant  seas. 

8.  And  in  his  cabin  he  has  a  library  of  volumes, — the 
strange  production  of  a  machine  of  almost  magical  powers, — 
which,  as  he  turns  over  their  leaves,  enable  him  to  converse 
with  the  great  and  good  of  every  clime  and  age,  and  which 
even  repeat  to  him,  in  audible  notes,  the  laws  of  his  God  and 
the  promises  of  his  Savior,  and  point  out  to  him  that  happy 
land  which  he  hopes  to  reach  when  his  flag  is  struck,  and  his 
sails  are  furled,  and  the  voyage  of  life  is  over. 


EXERCISE    XCVII. 
XIMENA  AND  ELMINA. 


MRS.    HEMAN8. 


Ximena,     For  me,  my  part  is  done ! 
The  flame  which  dimly  might  have  lingered  yet 
A  little  while,  hath  gathered  all  its  rays 
Brightly  to  sink  at  once  ;  and  it  is  well ! 
The  shadows  are  around  me ;  to  thy  heart 
Fold  me,  that  I  may  die. 

Elmina,  My  child  !  what  dream 
Is  on  thy  soul  1    Even  now  thine  aspect  wears 
Life's  brightest  mspiration ! 

Ximena.  Death's ! 

JElmina.  Away  ! 
Thine  eye  hath  starry  clearness,  and  thy  cheek 


YOUNG     LADIES'     KEADER.  286 

Doth  glow  beneath  it  with  a  richer  hue 
Than  tinged  its  earliest  flower  ! 

Ximena.  It  well  may  be  ! 
There  are  far  deeper  and  far  warmer  hues 
Than  those  which  draw  their  coloring  from  the  founts 
Of  youth,  or  health,  or  hope. 

Why  should  not  He,  whose  touch  dissolves  our  chain, 
Put  on  His  robes  of  beauty,  when  He  comes 
As  a  Deliverer  ?     He  hath  many  forms  ; 
They  should  not  all  be  fearful !     If  His  call 
Be  but  our  gathering  to  that  distant  land, 
For  whose  sweet  waters  we  have  pined  with  thirst, 
Why  should  not  its  prophetic  sense  be  borne 
Into  the  heart's  deep  stillness,  with  a  breath 
Of  summer  winds,  a  voice  of  melody. 
Solemn,  yet  lovely  ?     Mother,  I  depart ! — 
Be  it  thy  comfort,  in  thy  after  days. 
That  thou  hast  seen  me  thus  ! 

Elmina.  Can  I  bear  on  with  life 
When  thou  art  gone  %     Thy  voice,  thy  step,  thy  smile, 
Passed  from  my  path !     Alas,  even  now  thine  eye 
Is  changed — thy  cheek  is  fading  ! 

Ximena,  Aye,  the  clouds 
Of  the  dim  hour  are  gathering  o'er  my  sight. 
Oh,  weep  thou  not,  save  with  a  gentle  sorrow  ! 

Elmina.  Must,  it  be  %    Art  thou,  indeed,  to  leav6  me  I 

Ximena  {exultingly).  Be  thou  glad  ! 
I  say,  rejoice  above  thy  favored  child  ! 
Joy,  for  the  soldier  when  his  field  is  fought, 
Joy,  for  the  peasant  when  his  vintage  task 
Is  closed  at  eve !     But,  most  of  all,  for  her 
Who,  when  her  life  changed  its  glittering  robes 
For  the  dull  garb  of  sorrow,  which  doth  ding 
So  heavily  around  the  journeyers  on, 
Cast  down  its  weight — and  slept!  \She  dk%^ 


SANDERS'    NEW    SERIES. 


DIRQB. 

(p.)     Calm  on  the  bosom  of  thy  God, 
Fair  spirit,  rest  thee  now' ! 
E'en  while  with  ours  thy  footsteps  trod, 
His  seal  was  on  thy  brow. 

Dust,  to  its  narrow  house  beneath ! 

Soul,  to  its  place  on  high  ! 
They  that  have  seen  thy  look  in  death, 

No  more  may  fear  to  die. 

QmBSTTONs. — 1.  Why  the  rising  inflection  on  chUd,  second  stanza? 
See  Note  I.,  page  80.  2.  Why  the  falling  inflection  on  awai/,  fourth 
stanza?    See  Rule  VIII.,  page  31. 


EXERCISE  XCVIII, 


THE  HUNTER  OF  THE   ALPa 

FBOM  THE  GERMAN  OF  iOBSLUta. 

1.  Will  not  thou  thy  lambkins  heed  1 

Sweet  and  innocent  their  look, 
As  they  browse  upon  the  mead 

Or  disport  beside  the  brook. 
(")    "  Mother,  mother,  let  me  go 

Chase  o'er  mountain  hights  the  roe !" 

2.  Wilt  thou  not,  through  mead  and  d611, 

Lure  with  dieerful  horn  the  herds  ? 
Sweetly  the  resounding  bell 

Mingles  with  the  song  of  birds. 
"  Mother,  mother,  let  me  hie 
To  the  mountain  wilds  on  high  !" 

8.      Wilt  thou  not  await  the  flowers 
Sweetly  smiling  on  their  lr6d  1 


YOUNG    LADIES'     EEADER.  287 


Dark  and  drear,  the  mountain  lowers, 

There  no  flowers  rear  their  head. 
"  Let  the  flowers  bloom  and  blow ! 
Mother,  mother,  let  me  go  !" 

4.  And  the  boy  went  forth  to  chase, 
(=)     On,  on,  up  the  craggy  pile, 

With  blind  daring's  reckless  pace, 

Through  the  mountain's  dark  defil- 
On  before  him,  like  the  wind. 
Trembling  flees  the  panting  hind. 

5.  Fleetly  climbs  she  to  the  verge 

Of  the  naked  craggy  steep, 
O'er  the  tempest-riven  gorge 

Boundeth  she  with  fearless  leap ; 
But  behind  her  speeds  the  foe, 
Recklessly,  with  deadly  bow. 

6.  O'er  the  chasm's  fearful  brink 

Hangs  she,  on  the  topmost  hight, 
Where  the  crags  abruptly  sink, 

And  the  path  is  lost  to  sight. 
Fearful  the  abyss  below  ! 
Nearer,  nearer  comes  the  foe ! 

7      She,  with  silent  looks  of  woe. 

Seeks  to  move  his  stony  heart. 
Seeks  in  vain, — he  bends  his  bow, 
And  prepares  to  launch  the  dart, 
Lo !  from  cavern  black  as  night 
Soars  the  ancient  mountain  sprite. 

8.      And  he  raised  his  godlike  hand 
To  protect  her  from  the  foe, 


288  SANDERS'    NEW    SERIES. 


"  Wherefore,  in  my  airy  land 

Bring'st  thou  with  thee  death  and  woe  ? 
Earth  for  all  hath  ample  space  , 
Why  dost  thou  my  flocks  then  chase  f 


EXERCISE   XCIX. 
STORY  OF   ALCANDER   AND   SEPTIMIUS. 

OUVEE  GOLDSMITH. 

1.  Athens,  even  long  after  the  decline  of  the  Roman  Em- 
pire, still  continued  the  seat  of  learning,  politeness,  and  wis- 
dom. The  emperors  and  generals,  who,  i:i  these  periods  of 
approaching  ignorance,  still  felt  a  passion  for  science,  from 
time  to  time,  added  to  its  buildings,  or  increased  its  professor- 
ships. Theodoric,  the  Ostrogoth,  was  of  the  number ;  he  re« 
paired  those  schools  which  barbarity  was  suffering  to  fall  into 
decay,  and  continued  those  pensions  to  men  of  learning  which 
avaricious  governors  had  monopolized  to  themselves. 

2.  In  this  city,  and  about  this  period,  Alcander  and  Septim- 
ius  were  fellow -students  together.  The  one  the  most  subtle 
reasoner  of  all  the  Lyceum,  the  other  the  most  eloquent 
speaker  in  the  academic  grove.  Mutual  admiration  soon  be- 
got an  acquaintance,  and  a  similitude  of  disposition  made 
them  perfect  friends.  Their  fortunes  were  nearly  equal, 
their  studies  the  same,  and  they  were  natives  of  the  two  most 
celebrated  cities  in  the  world ;  for  Alcander  was  of  Athens, 
Septimius  came  from  Rome. 

3.  In  this  mutual  harmony  they  lived  for  some  time  ta 
gether,  when  Alcander,  after  passing  the  first  part  of  his 
youth  in  the  indolence  of  philosophy,  thought,  at  length,  of 
entering  into  the  busy  world ;  and,  as  a  step  previous  to  this, 
placed  his  affections  on  Hypatia,  a  lady  of  exquisite  beauty. 
Hypatia  showed  no  dislike  to  his  addresses.  The  day  of  their 
intended  nuptials  was  fixed,  the  previous  ceremonies  were 


YOUNG    LADIES'  READER.  289 

performed,  and  nothing  now  remained  but  her  being  con- 
ducted in .  triumph  to  the  apartment  of  the  intended  bride- 
groom. 

4.  An  exultation  in  his  own  happiness,  or  his  being  unable 
to  enjoy  any  satisfaction  without  making  his  friend  Septimius 
a  partner,  prevailed  upon  him  to  introduce  his  mistress  to  his 
fellow-student,  which  he  did  with  all  the  gayety  of  a  man  who 
found  himself  equally  happy  in  friendship  and  love.  But  this 
was  an  interview  fatal  to  the  peace  of  both.  Septimius  no 
sooner  saw  her  but  he  was  smit  with  an  involuntary  passion. 
He  used  every  effort,  but  in  vain,  to  suppress  desires  at  once 
so  imprudent  and  unjust.  He  retired  to  his  apartment  in  in- 
expressible agony,  and  the  emotions  of  his  mind,  in  a  short 
time,  became  so  strong,  that  they  brought  on  a  fever,  which 
the  physicians  judged  incurable. 

5.  During  this  illness,  Alcander  watched  him  with  all  the 
anxiety  of  fondness,  and  brought  his  mistress  to  join  in  these 
amiable  offices  of  friendship.  The  sagacity  of  the  physicians, 
by  this  means,  soon  discovered  the  cause  of  their  patient's 
disorder,  and  Alcander,  being  apprised  of  their  discovery, 
at  length,  extorted  a  confession  from  the  reluctant  dying  lover. 

6.  It  would  but  delay  the  narrative  to  describe  the  con- 
flict between  love  and  friendship  in  the  breast  of  Alcander 
on  this  occasion ;  it  is  enough  to  say,  that  the  Athenians  were 
at  this  time  arrived  to  such  refinement  in  morals,  that  every 
virtue  was  carried  to  excess.  In  short,  forgetful  of  his  own 
felicity,  he  gave  up  his  intended  bride,  in  all  her  charms,  to 
the  young  Roman. 

7.  They  were  married  privately  by  his  connivance ;  and 
this  unlooked-for  change  of  fortune  wrought  as  unexpected  a 
change  in  the  constitution  of  the  now  happy  Septimius.  In  a 
few  days  he  was  perfectly  recovered,  and  set  out  with  his  fair 
partner  for  Rome.  Here,  by  an  exertion  of  those  talents  of 
which  he  was  so  eminently  possessed,  he,  in  a  few  years,  ar- 
rived at  the  highest  dignities  of  the  state,  and  was  constituted 
the  city  judge  or  praetor. 

13 


290  SANDERS'     NEW     SERIES, 

8.  Meanwhile,  Alcander  not  only  felt  the  pain  of  being 
separated  from  his  friend  and  mistress,  but  a  prosecution  was, 
also,  commenced  against  him  by  the  relations  of  Hypatia,  for 
his  having  basely  given  her  up,  as  was  suggested,  for  money. 
Neither  his  innocence  of  the  crime  laid  to  his  charge,  nor  his 
eloquence  in  his  own  defense,  was  able  to  withstand  the  influ- 
ence of  a  powerful  party. 

9.  He  was  cast,  and  condemned  to  pay  an  enormous  fine. 
Unable  to  raise  so  large  a  sum  at  the  time  appointed,  his  pos- 
sessions were  confiscated,  himself  stripped  of  the  habit  of 
freedom,  exposed  in  the  market-place,  and  sold  as  a  slave  to 
the  highest  bidder.  A  merchant  of  Thrace  becoming  his  pur- 
chaser, Alcander,  with  some  other  companions  of  distress. 
was  carried  into  that  region  of  desolation  and  sterility.  His 
stated  employment  was  to  follow  the  herds  of  an  imperious 
master,  and  his  skill  in  hunting  was  all  that  was  allowed  him 
to  supply  a  precarious  subsistence. 

10.  Condemned  to  hopeless  servitude,  every  morning 
waked  him  to  a  renewal  of  famine  or  toil,  and  every  change 
of  season  served  but  to  aggravate  his  unsheltered  distress. 
Nothing  but  death  or  flight  was  left  him,  and  almost  certain 
death  was  the  consequence  of  his  attempting  to  fly.  After 
some  years  of  bondage,  however,  an  opportunity  of  escaping 
offered ;  he  embraced  it  with  ardor,  and,  traveling  by  night 
and  lodging  in  caverns  by  day,  to  shorten  a  long  story,  he  at 
last  arrived  in  Rome. 

11.  The  day  of  Alcander's  arrival,  Septimius  sat  in  the 
forum  administering  justice,  and  hither  our  wanderer  came, 
expecting  to  be  instantly  known  and  publicly  acknowledged. 
Here  he  stood  the  whole  day  among  the  crowd,  watching  the 
eyes  of  the  judge,  and  expecting  to  be  taken  notice  of;  but  so 
much  was  he  altered  by  a  long  succession  of  hardships,  that 
he  passed  entirely  without  notice,  and  in  the  evening,  when 
he  was  going  up  to  the  praetor's  chair,  he  was  brutally  repulsed 
by  the  attending  lictors.  The  attention  of  the  poor  is  gene 
rally  driven  from  one  ungrateful  object  to  another. 


P; 


YOUNG     LADIES'    READER.  291 


12.  Night  coming  on,  he  now  found  himself  under  a  neces- 
sity of  seeking  a  place  to  lie  in,  and  yet  knew  not  where  to 
apply.  All  emaciated  and  in  rags  as  he  was,  none  of  the  citi- 
zens would  harbor  so  much  wretchedness,  and  sleeping  in  the 
streets  might  be  attended  with  interruption  or  danger ;  in 
short,  he  was  obliged  to  take  up  his  lodging  in  one  of  the 
tombs  without  the  city,  the  usual  retreat  of  guilt,  poverty,  or 
despair.  In  this  mansion  of  horror,  laying  his  head  upon  an 
inverted  urn,  he  forgot  his  miseries  for  a  while  in  sleep  ;  and 
virtue  found  on  this  flinty  couch  more  ease  than  down  can 
supply  to  the  guilty. 

13.  It  was  midnight,  when  two  robbers  came  to  make  this 
cave  their  retreat ;  but  happening  to  disagree  about  the  di- 
vision of  their  plunder,  one  of  them  stabbed  the  other  to  the 
heart,  and  left  him  weltering  in  blood  at  the  entrance.  In 
these  circumstances  he  was  found  next  morning,  and  this  natu- 
rally induced  a  further  inquiry.  The  alarm  was  spread,  the 
cave  was  examined,  Alcander  was  found  sleeping,  and  imme- 
diately apprehended  and  accused  of  robbery  and  murder. 
The  circumstances  against  him  were  strong,  and  the  wretch- 
edness of  his  appearance  confirmed  suspicion. 

14.  Misfortune  and  he  were  now  so  long  acquainted,  that 
he,  at  last,  became  regardless  of  life.  He  detested  a  world, 
where  he  had  found  only  ingratitude,  falsehood,  and  cruelty, 
and  was  determined  to  make  no  defense.  Thus,  lowering 
with  resolution,  he  was  dragged,  bound  with  cords,  before  the 
tribunal  of  Septimius.  The  proofs  were  positive  against  him, 
and  he  offered  nothing  in  his  own  vindication ;  the  judge, 
therefore,  was  proceeding  to  doom  him  to  a  most  cruel  and 
ignominious  death,  when,  as  if  illumined  by  a  ray  from 
heaven,  he  discovered,  through  all  his  misery,  the  features, 
though  dim  with  sorrow,  of  his  long-lost,  loved  Alcander. 

15.  It  is  impossible  to  describe  his  joy  and  his  pain  on  this 
strange  occasion ;  happy  in  once  more  seeing  the  person  he 
most  loved  on  earth ;  distressed  at  finding  him  in  such  cir- 
cumstances.    Thus  agitated  by  contending  passions,  he  flew 


292  SANDERS'    NEW     SERIES. 

from  his  tribunal,  and  falling  on  the  neck  of  his  dear  benefeo- 
tor,  burst  into  an  agony  of  distress. 

16.  The  attention  of  the  multitude  was  soon,  however,  di- 
vided by  another  object.  The  robber,  who  had  been  really 
guilty,  was  apprehended  selling  his  plunder,  and,  struck  with 
a  panic,  confessed  his  crime.  He  was  brought  bound  to  the 
same  tribunal,  and  acquitted  every  other  person  of  any  part- 
nership in  his  guilt.  Need  the  sequel  be  related  1  Alcander 
was  acquitted,  shared  the  friendship  and  the  honors  of  his 
friend  Septimius,  lived  afterwards  in  happiness  and  ease,  and 
left  it  to  be  engraved  on  his  tomb,  "  That  no  circumstances 
are  so  desperate,   that  Providence  may  not  relieve  them^"* 


EXERCISE    C. 


7.  Se-sos'-teis,  a  famous  king  of  Egypt,  who  reigned  in  the  fifteenth 
century  before  Christ.  He  was  a  great  conqueror,  and  is  said  to 
have  erected  magnificent  temples  in  all  the  cities  of  his  empire,  and 
to  have  dug  many  canals  from  the  river  Nile,  for  the  purposes  of 
commerce  and  navigation. 

THE  REAL  DURATION  OF  MEN'S   LIVES. 

T.    NOON   TALFOUED. 

1.  We  hear  persons  complaining  of  the  slow  passage  of 
time,  when  they  have  spent  a  single  night  of  unbroken  weari- 
someness,  and  wondering  how  speedily  hours  filled  with 
pleasure  or  engrossing  occupations  have  flown ;  and  yet  we 
all  know  how  long  any  period  seems  which  has  been  crowded 
with  events  or  feelings  leaving  a  strong  impression  behind 
them, 

2.  In  thinking  on  seasons  of  ennui*  we  have  nothing  but  a 
sense  of  length, — ^we  merely  remember  that  we  felt  the  tedi- 
um of  existence  ;  but  there  is  really  no'  space  in  the  imagma 
tion  filled  up  by  the  period.  Mere  time,  unpeopled  with  di- 
versified emotions  or  circumstances,  is  but  one  idea,  and  that 

*  Enmd  (ang  we'),  weariness,  languor. 


I 


YOUNG    LADIES'  BEADER.  293 

idea  is  nothing  more  than  the  remembrance  of  a  listless  sen- 
sation. A  night  of  dull  pain,  and  months  of  lingering  weak- 
ness, are,  in  the  retrospect,  nearly  the  same  thing. 

3.  When  our  hands  or  our  hearts  are  busy,  we  know  noth- 
ing of  time — it  does  not  exist  for  us ;  but  as  soon  as  we 
pause  to  meditate  on  that  which  is  gone,  we  seem  to  have 
lived  long  because  we  look  back  through  a  long  series  of 
events,  or  feel  them  at  once  peering  one  above  the  other  like 
ranges  of  distant  hills.  Actions  or  feelings,  not  hours,  mark 
all  the  backward  course  of  our  being.  Our  sense  of  the 
nearness  to  us  of  any  circumstance  in  our  life,  is  determined 
on  the  same  principles — ^not  by  the  revolution  of  the  seasons, 
but  by  the  relation  which  the  event  bears  in  importance  to  all 
that  has  happened  to  us  since. 

4.  iTo  him  who  has  thought,  or  done,  or  suffered  much,  the 
level  days  of  his  childhood  seem  at  an  immeasurable  distance, 
— far  off  as  the  age  of  chivalry,  or  as  the  line  of  Sesostris.* 
There  are  some  recollections  of  such  overpowering  vastness, 
that  their  objects  seem  ever  near ;  their  size  reduces  all  in- 
termediate events  to  nothing  ;  and  they  peer  upon  us  like  "  a 
forked  mountain,  or  blue  promontory,"  which,  being  far  off, 
is  yet  nigh. 

5.  How  different  from  these  appears  some  inconsiderable 
occulrence  of  more  recent  date,  which  a  flash  of  thought  re- 
deems in  a  moment  from  long  oblivion ;  which  is  seen  amidst 
the  dim  confusion  of  half-forgotten  things,  like  a  little  rock 
lighted  up  by  a  chance  gleam  of  sunshine  afar  in  the  mighty 
waters ! 

6.  What  immense  difference  is  there,  then,  in  the  real  du- 
ation  of  men's  lives  !    He  lives  longest  of  all  who  looks  back 

oflenest,  whose  life  is  most  populous  of  thought  or  action^ 
and  on  every  retrospect  makes  the  vastest  picture.  The  man 
who  does  not  meditate,  has  no  real  consciousness  of  being. 
Such  a  one  goes  to  death  as  to  a  drunken  sleep ;  he  parts 
with  existence  wantonly,  because  he  knows  nothing  of  its 
value. 


294  SANDERS'    NEW    SERIES. 

7.  Mere  men  of  pleasure  are,  therefore,  the  most  careless 
of  duelists,  the  gayest  of  soldiers.  To  know  the  true  value 
of  being,  yet  to  lay  it  down  for  a  great  cause,  is  a  pitch  of 
heroism,  which  has  rarely  been  attained  by  men.  That  mas- 
tery of  the  fear  of  death  which  is  so  common  among  men  of 
spirit,  is  nothing  but  a  conquest  over  the  apprehension  of  dy 
ing.     It  is  a  mere  victory  of  nerve  and  muscle. 

8  Those  whose  days  have  no  principle  of  continuity — ^who 
never  feel  time  but  in  the  shape  of  ennui — may  quit  the  world 
for  sport  or  for  honor.  But  he  who  truly  lives,  who  feels 
the  past  and  future  in  the  instant,  whose  days  are  to  him  a 
possession  of  majestic  remembrances  and  golden  hopes,  ought 
not  to  fancy  himself  bound* by  such  an  example.  He  may 
be  inspired  to  lay  down  his  life,  when  truth  or  virtue  shall 
demand  so  great  a  sacrifice;  but  he  will  be  influenced  by 
mere  weakness  of  resolution,  not  by  courage,  if  he  suffer 
himself  to  be  ashamed,  or  laughed,  or  worried  out  of  it ! 


EXERCISE    CI. 

VALUE   OF  TIME. 

Yovtta, 

1.  {si.)  Night,  sable  goddess  !  from  her  ebon  throne, 

In  rayless  majesty,  now  stretches  forth 
Her  leaden  scepter  o'er  a  slumbering  world. 
Silence,  how  dead  !  and  darkness,  how  profound  ! 
Nor  eye,  nor  listening  ear,  an  object  finds ; 
Creation  sleeps.     'Tis  as  the  general  pulse 
Of  life  stood  still,  and  Nature  made  a  pause  ; 
An  awful  pause  !  prophetic  of  her  end. 
And  let  her  prophecy  be  soon  fulfilled ; 
Fate  !  drop  the  curtain ;  I  can  lose  no  more. 

2.  The  bell  strikes  one.     We  take  no  note  of  time 
But  from  its  loss.     To  give  it,  then,  a  tongue, 


YOUHO     LADIES'    READER  295 

Is  wise  in  man.     As  if  an  angel  spoke, 

I  feel  the  solemn  sound.     If  heard  aright, 

It  is  the  knell  of  my  departed  hours  : 

Where  are  they  *?     With  the  years  beyond  the  flood. 

It  is  the  signal  that  demands  dispatch  ; 

How  much  is  to  be  done !     My  hopes  and  fears 

Start  up  alarmed,  and  o'er  life's  narrow  verge 

Look  down — On  what  1  a  fathomless  abyss  ; 

A  dread  eternity !  how  surely  mine  ! 

And  can  eternity  belong  to  me. 

Poor  pensioner  on  the  bounties  of  an  hour  ? 

3.  How  poor,  how  rich,  how  abject,  how  august, 
How  complicate,  how  wonderful  is  man  ! 
How  passing  wonder  He  who  made  him  such  ! 
Who  centered  in  our  make  such  strange  extremes  * 
From  different  natures  marvelously  mixed, 
Connection  exquisite  of  distant  worlds  ! 
Distinguished  link  in  Being's  endless  chain  ! 
Midway  from   nothing  to  the  Deity  ! 

A  beam  ethereal,  sullied,  and  absorbed  ! 
Though  sullied  and  dishonored,  still  divine  ! 
Dim  miniature  of  greatness  absolute  ! 

4.  An  heir  of  glory  !  a  frail  child  of  dust ! 
Helpless  immortal !  insect  infinite  ! 

A  worm !  a  god  ! — I  tremble  at  myself. 

And  in  myself  am  lost !     At  home  a  stranger. 

Thought  wanders  up  and  down,  surprised,  aghast. 

And  wondering  at  her  own«     How  reason  reels ! 

O  what  a  miracle  to  man  is  man. 

Triumphantly  distressed !  what  joy,  what  dread  : 

Alternately  transported,  and  alarmed  ! 

What  can  preserve  my  life  !  or  what  destroy  ! 

An  artel's  arm  can't  snatch  me  from  the  grave , 

Legions  of  angels  can't  confine  me  there. 


296  SANDERS'     NEW     SERIES. 

5.  'Tis  past  conjecture  ;  all  things  rise  in  proof: 
While  o'er  my  limbs  sleep's  soft  dominion  spreads, 
What  though  my  soul  fantastic  measures  trod 
O'er  fairy  fields ;  or  mourned  along  the  gloom 

Of  pathless  Avoods ;  or,  down  the  craggy  steep 

Hurled  headlong,  swam  with  pain  the  mantled  pool ; 

Or  scaled  the  cliff;  or  danced  on  hollow  winds, 

With  antic  shapes,  wild  natives  of  the  brain  ? 

Her  ceaseless  flight,  though  devious,  speaks  her  nature 

Of  subtler  essence  than  the  trodden  clod  ; 

Active,  aerial,  towering,  unconfined, 

Unfetter'd  with  her  gross  companion's  fall. 

E'en  silent  night  proclaims  my  soul  immortal : 

E'en  silent  night  proclaims  eternal  day. 

For  human  weal.  Heaven  husbands  all  events ; 

Dull  sleep  instructs,  nor  sport  vain  dreams  in  vain, 

6.  Why,  then,  their  loss  deplore*,  that  are  not  lost  ? 
Why  wanders  wretched  thought  their  tombs  around 
In  infidel  distress  ?     Are  angels  there  ? 
Slumbers,  raked  up  in  dust,  ethereal  fire  ? 

They  live  !  they  greatly  live  a  life  on  earth 
Unkindled,  unconceived ;  and  from  an  eye 
Of  tenderness  let  heavenly  pity  fall 
On  me,  more  justly  numbered  with  the  dead. 
This  is  the  desert,  this  the  solitude  : 
How  populous,  how  vital,  is  the  grave  ! 
This  is  Creation's  melancholy  vault, 
The  vale  funereal,  the  sad  cypress  gloom  , 
The  land  of  apparitions,  empty  shades  ! 
All,  all,  on  earth,  is  Shadow ;  all  beyond 
Is  Substance  ;  the  reverse  is  Folly's  creed  : 
How  solid  all,  where  change  shall  be  no  more  ! 

7.  Yet  man,  fool  man !  here  buries  all  hvs  thoughts , 
Inters  celestial  hopes  without  one  sigh. 


YOUNG    LADIES'  READER.  29T 


Prisoner  of  earth,  and  pent  beneath  the  moon, 

Here  pinions  all  his  wishes  ;  winged  by  Heaven 

To  fly  at  infinite  ;  and  reach  it  there, 

Where  seraphs  gather  immortality. 

On  Life's  fair  tree,  fast  by  the  throne  of  God, 

What  golden  joys  ambrosial  clustering  glow 

In  His  full  beam,  and  ripen  for  the  just, 

Where  momentary  ages  are  no  more  ! 

Where  time,  and  pain,  and  chance,  and  death  expire  ! 

And  is  it  in  the  flight  of  threescore  years 

To  push  eternity  from  human  thought, 

And  smother  souls  immortal  in  the  dust  ? 

A  soul  immortaly  spending  all  her  fires. 

Wasting  her  strength  in  strenuous  idleness, 

Thrown  into  tumult,  raptured  or  alarmed. 

At  aught  this  scene  can  threaten  or  indulge. 

Resembles  ocean  into  tempest  wrought. 

To  waft  a  feather,  or  to  drown  a  fly. 

Questions. — 1.  With  what  tone  of  voice  should  the  first  stanza  be 
read  ?    See  Remark,  page  24. 


EXERCISE    CII. 
ANGELO  AND  CLAUDIA. 


HISS  MITFOBD. 

An  apartment  in  RienzVs  house  ;  a  Roman  chair,  with  a  skain 
of  red  worsted  ;  a  lattice  down  to  the  Jloor,  opening  into  the 
garden. — Enter  Angelo  and  Claudia  through  the  lattice. 
Cla.  Beseech  thee,  now,  away,  Lord  Angelo, — 

Thou  hast  been  here  o'erlong. 

Ang.  Scarce  whilst  the  sand 

Ran  through  the  tell-tale  glass ;  scarce  whilst  the  sun 

Lengthened  the  shadow  of  the  cedar. 
Cla.  See! 

The  sun  is  setting — see ! 

13* 


298  SANDERS'  NEW    SERIES. 

Ang.  Scarce,  whilst  I  said 

A  thousand  times — I  love. 

Cla.  Look  to  the  sun. 

Ang.  I  had  rat'ier  gaze  on  thee. 

Cla.  And  think  how  long 

We  sat  beneath  the  myrtle  shade,  how  long 
Paced  the  cool  trellis  walk.     When  next  thou  steal'st 
Hither,  from  thy  proud  palace,  I  must  time  thee 
By  seconds,  as  the  nice  physician  counts 
The  boundings  of  the  fevered  pulse.     Away, 
Dear  Angelo  ;  think,  if  my  father  find  thee — 

Ang.  Oh,  talk  not  of  him,  sweet !  w^hy  was  I  bom 
The  heir  of  the  Colonna  ?  why  art  thou 
Rienzi's  daughter  %    What  a  world  of  foes. 
Stern  scorn,  and  fiery  pride,  and  cold  contempt 
Are  ranged  betwixt  us  twain  ;  yet  love,  and  time. 
Be  faithful,  mine  own  Claudia — time,  and  love  ! 

Cla.  Alas  !  alas  ! 

Ang.  Thy  father  loves  thee,  sweetest, 

With  a  proud  dotage,  almost  worshiping 
The  idol  it  hath  framed.     Thou  fear'st  not  him  % 

Cla.  Alas  !  I  have  learned  to  fear  him ;  he  is  changed, 
Grievously  changed ;  still  good  and  kind,  and  full 
Of  fond  relentings — crossed  by  sudden  gusts 
Of  wild  and  stormy  passion.     I  have  learned 
A  daughter's  trembling  love.     Then  he 's  so  silent — 
He,  once  so  eloquent.     Of  old,  each  show. 
Bridal,  or  joust,  or  pious  pilgrimage, 
Lived  in  his  vivid  speech.     Oh  !  't  was  my  joy. 
In  that  bright  glow  of  rapid  words,  to  see 
Clear  pictures,  as  the  slow  procession  coiled 
Its  glittering  length,  or  stately  tournament 
Grew  statelier  in  his  voice.     Now  he  sits  mute— 
His  serious  eyes  bent  on  the  ground — each  sense 
Turned  mward. 

Ang.  Somewhat  chafes  his  ardent  spirit. 


YOUNG     LADIES'     READEK.  299 

Cla.  And  should  I  grieve  him,  too  ?     Lord  Angelo, 
The  love  deserves  no  blessing,  that  deceives 
A  father. 

Ang.  Mine  own  Claudia  ! 

Cla.  We  must  part. 

Ang.  O,  never  talk  of  parting  !     'T  was  Rienzi 
That  brought  me  hither  first.     Rememberest  thou 
A  boy,  scarce  more  than  boy — thy  lovely  self 
Scarce  woman.     Then  was  thy  rare  beauty  stamped, 
At  once,  within  my  heart,  tlfen,  and  forever ; — 
Thou  canst  not  bid  me  leave  thee,  love  and  time, — 
And  constancy — oh,  be  as  faithful,  Claudia, 
As  thou  art  fair ! 

Rie.  (without.)     Camillo! 

Cla.  Hence,  begone ! 

JRie.  {without.)     Camillo  ! 

Cla.  •       'T  is  his  voice,  away,  away ! 

Here,  through  the  lattice — ^by  the  garden  gate. 

lExit  Angela. 
Now  Heaven  forgive  me,  if  it  be  a  sin 

To  love  thee,  Angelo.   {Looking  after  him.)    My  foolish  heart 
Beats  an'  it  were.     He 's  gone — he 's  hidden  now 
Behind  the  myrtle  hedge :  thank  Heaven !  thank  Heaven ! 
He  's  opening  now  the  gate — I  hear  the  key — 
But  my  sense  is  fear-quickened  ;  now  't  is  closed. 
And  all  is  safe.     {Sinks  down  into  the  chair.)     Oh,  simple 

heart,  be  still ! 
Be  still! 


EXERCISE    cm 


NIMROUD  IN  SPRING. 

FROM    "NINEVEH   AND   ITS   REMAINS,"   BY   A.    H.    LATAB1>. 

1.  The  middle  of  March  in  Mesopotamia  is  the  brightest 
epoch  of  spring.     A  new  change  had  come  over  the  face  of 


800  SANDERS'     NEW     SERIES. 

the  plain  of  Nimroud ;  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  it  was 
studded  with  the  white  pavilions  of  the  Hytas  and  the  black 
tents  of  the  Arabs.  Picketed  around  them  were  innumerable 
horses  in  gay  trappings,  struggling  to  release  themselves  from 
the  bonds  which  restrained  them  from  ranging  over  the  green 
pastures. 

2.  Flowers  of  every  hue  enameled  the  meadows ;  not  thin- 
ly scattered  over  the  grass,  as  in  northern  climes,  but  in 
such  thick  and  gathering  clusters,  that  the  whole  plain  seem- 
ed a  patchwork  of  many  colors.'  The  dogs,  as  they  returned 
from  hunting,  issued  from  the  long  grass  dyed  red,  yellow, 
or  blue,  according  to  the  flowers  through  which  they  had  last 
forced  their  way. 

3.  When  I  returned  in  the  evening,  after  the  labor  of  the 
day,  I  often  sat  at  the  door  of  my  tent,  and,  giving  myself  up 
to  the  full  enjoyment  of  that  calm  and  repose  which  are  im- 
parted to  the  senses  by  such  scenes  as.  these,  I  gazed  listlessly 
on  the  varied  groups  before  me.  As  the  sun  went  down  be- 
hind the  low  hills  which  separate  the  river  from  the  desert — 
even  their  rocky  sides  had  struggled  to  emulate  the  verdant 
clothing  of  the  plain — its  receding  rays  were  gradually  with- 
drawn, like  a  transparent  vail  of  light,  from  the  landscape. 

4.  Over  the  pure,  cloudless  sky  was  the  glow  of  the  last 
light.  The  great  mound  threw  its  dark  shadow  far  across  the 
plain.  In  the  distance,  and  beyond  the  Zab,  another  venera- 
ble ruin  rose  indistinctly  into  the  evening  mist.  Still  more 
distant,  and  still  more  indistinct,  was  a  solitary  hill  overlook- 
ing the  ancient  city  of  Arbela.*  The  Kurdish  mountains, 
whose  snowy  summits  cherished  the  dying  sunbeams,  yet 
struggled  with  the  twilight. 

5.  It  was  one  of  those  calm  and  pleasant  evenings  which, 
in  spring,  make  a  paradise  of  the  desert.  The  breeze,  bland 
and  perfumed  by  the  odor  of  the  flowers,  came  calmly  over 

*  A  small  place  in  Eastern  Assyria,  renowned  for  a  decisive  battle 
fought  in  its  neighborhood,  by  Alexander  the  Great,  against  Darius^ 
the  king  of  Persia. 


YOUNG    LADIES'   READEK.  301 

the  plain.  Countless  camels  and  sheep  wandered  to  the  tents, 
and  the  melancholy  call  of  the  herdsmen  rose  above  the 
bleating  of  the  flocks.  Girls  hurried  over  the  green  sward  to 
seek  their  fathers'  cattle,  or  crouched  down  to  milk  those 
which  had  returned  alone  to  their  well-remembered  folds. 

6.  Some  were  coming  from  the  river,  bearing  the  replen- 
ished pitcher  on  their  heads  or  shoulders  ;  others,  no  less 
graceful  in  their  form,  and  erect  in  their  carriage,  were  carry- 
ing the  heavy  load  of  long  grass,  which  they  had  cut  in  the 
meadows.  Sometimes  a  party  of  horsemen  might  have  been 
seen  in  the  distance  crossing  the  plain,  the  tufts  of  ostrich 
feathers  which  topped  their  long  spears,  showing  darkly 
against  the  evening  sky.  They  would  ride  up  to  my  tent, 
and  give  me  the  usual  salutations  :  "  Peace  be  with  you,  O 
Bey,"  or  "  Allah  Aienak, — God  help  you  !" 


EXERCISE    CIV. 
LA   FAYETTE. 


OHABLES   SPRAGUS. 

1.  While  we  bring  our  offerings  to  the  mighty  of  our  own 
land,  shall  we  not  remember  the  chivalrous  spirits  of  other 
shores,  who  shared  with  them  the  hour  of  weakness  and  woe  1 
Pile  to  the  clouds  the  majestic  column  of  glory  ;  let  the  lips 
of  those  who  can  speak  well  hallow  each  spot,  where  the  bones 
of  your  bold  repose ;  but  forget  not  those  who  with  your 
bold,  went  out  to  battle. 

2.  Among  these  men  of  noble  daring,  there  was  one,  a 
young  and  gallant  stranger,  who  left  the  blushing  vine-hills  of 
his  delightful  France.  The  people  whom  nC  came  to  succor 
were  not  his  people ;  he  knew  them  only  in  the  melancholy 
story  of  their  wrongs.  He  was  no  mercenary  adventurer, 
striving  for  the  spoil  of  the  vanquished ;  the  palace  acknowl- 
edged  him   for   its  lord,  and   the   valley   yielded   him   its 


.802  SANDEES'    NEW    SERIES. 

increase.  He  was  no  nameless  man,  staking  life  for  repu- 
tation ;  he  ranked  among  nobles,  and  looked  unawed  upon 
kings. 

3.  He  was  no  friendless  outcast,  seeking  for  a  grave  to  hide 
a  broken  heart;  he  was  girdled  by  the  companions  of  his  child- 
hood ;  his  kinsmen  were  about  him ;  his  wife  was  before 
him.  Yet  from  all  these  loved  ones  he  turned  away.  Like  a 
lofty  tree  that  shakes  down  its  green  glories,  to  battle  with 
the  winter's  storm,  he  flung  aside  the  trappings  of  place  and 
pride  to  crusade  for  Freedom,  in  Freedom's  holy  land.  He 
came ;  but  not  in  the  day  of  successful  rebellion ;  not  when 
the  new-risen  sun  of  independence  had  burst  the  cloud  of  time, 
and  careered  to  its  place  in  the  heavehs. 

4.  He  came  when  darkness  curtained  the  hills,  and  the 
tempest  was  abroad  in  its  anger  ;  when  the  plow  stood  still 
in  the  field  of  promise,  and  briers  cumbered  the  garden  of 
beauty ;  when  fathers  were  dying,  and  mothers  were  weep- 
ing over  them ;  when  the  wife  was  binding  up  the  gashed 
bosom  of  her  husband,  and  the  maiden  was  wiping  the  death- 
damp  from  the  brow  of  her  lover.  He  came  when  the  brave 
began  to  fear  the  power  of  man,  and  the  pious  to  doubt  the 
favor  of  God.  It  was  then  that  this  one  joined  the  ranks  of  a 
revolted  people. 

5.  Freedom's  little  phalanx  bade  him  a  grateful  welcome. 
With  them  he  courted  the  battle's  rage ;  with  theirs,  his  arm 
was  lifted  ;  with  theirs,  his  blood  was  shed.  Long  and  doubt- 
ful was  the  conflict.  At  length,  kind  Heaven  smiled  on  the 
•good  cause,  and  the  beaten  invaders  fled.  The  profane  were 
driven  from  the  temple  of  Liberty,  and  at  her  pure  shrine  the 
pilgrim  warrior,  with  his  adored  Cognmander,  knelt  and 
worshiped.  Leaving  there  his  offering,  the  incense  of  an 
uncorrupted  spirit,  he,  at  length,  rose,  and  crowned,  with 
benedictions,  turned  his  happy  feet  toward  his  long-deserted 
home. 

6.  After  nearly  fifty  years,  that  one  has  come  again.  Can 
mortal  tongue  tell,  can  mortal  heart  feel  the  sublimity  of  that 


YOUNG     LADIES'    EEADEE.  803 

coming  ?  Exulting  millions  rejoice  in  it ;  (/)  and  their  loud, 
long,  transporting  shout,  like  the  mingling  of  many  winds, 
rolls  on,  undying,  to  freedom's  farthest  mountains.  A  con- 
gregated nation  comes  around  him.  Old  men  bless  him,  and 
children  reverence  him.  The  lovely  come  out  to  look  upon 
him ;  the  learned  deck  their  halls  to  greet  him  ;  the  rulers  of 
the  land  rise  up  to  do  him  homage. 

7.  How  his  full  heart  labors  !  He  views  the  rusting  tro- 
phies of  departed  days ;  he  treads  the  high  places  where 
his  brethren  molder ;  he  bends  before  the  tomb  of  his  father  ;* 
his  words  are  tears,  the  speech  of  sad  remembrance.  But 
he  looks  round  upon  a  ransomed  land  and  a  joyous  race ; 
he  beholds  the  blessings  those  trophies  secured,  for  which 
those  brethren  died,  for  which  that  father  lived ;  and 
again   his  words  are  tears,  the  eloquence  of  gratitude  and 

joy- 

8.  Spread  forth  creation  like  a  map  ;  bid  earth's  dead  mul- 
titude revive ;  and  of  all  the  pageant  splendors  that  ever  glit- 
tered to  the  sun,  when  looked  his  burning  eye  on  a  sight  like 
this  ?  Of  all  the  myriads  that  have  come  and  gone,  what 
cherished  minion  ever  ruled  an  hour  like  this  ?  Many  have 
struck  the  redeeming  blow  for  their  own  freedom  ;  but  who, 
like  this  man,  has  bared  his  bosom  in  the  cause  of  strangers  1 
Others  have  lived  in  the  love  of  their  own  people  ;  but  who, 
like  this  man,  has  drank  his  sweetest  cup  of  welcome  with 
another?  Matchless  Chief!  of  glory's  immortal  tablets, 
there  is  one  for  him,  for  him  alone  I  Oblivion  shall  never 
shroud  its  splendor ;  the  everlasting  flame  of  liberty  shall 
guard  it,  that  the  generations  of  men  may  repeat  the  name 
recorded  there,  the  beloved  name  of  La  Fayette. 

Questions. — 1.  On  what  principle  are  own  and  other,  emphatic,  first 
paragraph  ?  See  Note  VIL,  page  22.  "Why  the  rising  inflection  on 
rebellion  and  heaven,  third  paragraph  ?     See  Note  I.,  page  29. 

*  Washington. 


804  SANDERS'  NEW    SERIES. 

EXERCISE   CV. 
BINGEN   ON  THE   RHINE. 


MRS.    NORTOW. 
I. 

A  soldier  of  the  Legion  lay  dying  in  Algiers, 

There  was  lact  of  woman's  nursing,  there  was  dearth  of  woman's  tears ; 
But  a  comrade  stood  beside  him,  while  his  life-blood  ebbed  away, 
And  bent,  with  pitying  glances,  to  hear  what  he  might  say. 
The  dying  soldier  faltered,  as  he  took  that  comrade's  hand, 
And  he  said :  "  I  never  more  shall  see  my  own,  my  native  land ; 
Take  a  message,  and  a  token,  to  some  distant  friends  of  mine, 
For  I  was  born  at  Bingen, — at  Bingen  on  the  Rhine. 

n. 
"  Tell  my  brothers  and  companions,  when  they  meet  and  crowd  around. 
To  hear  my  mournful  story,  in  the  pleasant  vineyard  ground. 
That  we  fought  the  battle  bravely, — and  when  the  day  was  done. 
Full  many  a  corse  lay  ghastly  pale,  beneath  the  setting  sun. 
And  midst  the  dead  and  dying,  were  some  grown  old  in  wars, — 
The  death-wound  on  their  gallant  breasts,  the  last  of  many  scars ; 
But  some  were  young, — and  suddenly  beheld  life's  morn  decline, — 
And  one  had  come  from  Bingen, — fair  Bingen  on  the  Rhine ! 

m. 
"  Tell  my  mother  that  her  other  sons  shall  comfort  her  old  age, 
And  I  was  aye  a  truant  bird,  that  thought  his  home  a  cage : 
For  my  father  was  a  soldier,  and,  even  as  a  child, 
My  heart  leaped  forth  to  hear  him  tell  of  struggles  fierce  and  wild ; 
And  when  he  died,  and  left  us  to  divide  his  scanty  hoard, 
I  let  them  take  whate'er  they  would — ^but  kept  my  father's  sword ; 
And  with  boyish  love  I  hung  it  where  the  bright  light  used  to  shine, 
On  the  cottage-waU  at  Bingen, — calm  Bingen  on  the  Rhine  1 

IV. 

"  Tell  my  sister  not  to  weep  for  me,  and  sob  with  drooping  head. 
When  the  troops  are  marching  home  again,  with  glad  and  gallant  tread ; 
But  to  look  upon  them  proudly,  with  a  calm  and  steadfast  eye, 
For  her  brother  was  a  soldier,  too,  and  not  afraid  to  die. 
And,  if  a  comrade  seek  her  love,  I  ask  her  in  my  name 
To  listen  to  him  kindly,  without  regret  or  shame ; 
And  to  hang  the  old  sword  in  its  place,  (my  father's  sword  and  mine,) 
For  the  honor  of  old  Bingen, — dear  Bingen  on  the  Rhine  I 


YOUNG     LADIES'    READEK.  305 

V. 

"  There 's  another — not  a  sister ; — in  the  happy  days  gone  by, 

You  'd  have  known  her  by  the  merriment  that  sparkled  in  her  eye ; 

Too  innocent  for  coquetry, — too  fond  for  idle  scorning  ; — 

Oh  1  friend,  I  fear  the  lightest  heart  makes  sometimes  heaviest  mourn- 

Tell  her  the  last  night  of  my  life — (for  ere  this  moon  be  risen       [ing  1 

My  body  will  be  out  of  pain — ^my  soul  be  out  of  prison,) 

I  dreamed  I  stood  with  her,  and  saw  the  yellow  sunlight  shine, 

On  the  vine-clad  hills  of  Bingen, — fair  Bingen  on  the  Rhine  I 


"  I  saw  the  blue  Rhine  sweep  along — ^I  heard,  or  seemed  to  hear, 

.The  German  songs  we  used  to  sing,  in  chorus  sweet  and  clear; 

And  down  the  pleasant  river,  and  up  the  slanting  hill, 

That  echoing  chorus  sounded,  through  the  evening  calm  and  still ; 

And  her  glad  blue  eyes  were  on  me,  as  we  passed  with  friendly  talk, 

Down  many  a  path  beloved  of  yore,  and  well-remembered  walk ; 

And  her  little  hand  lay  lightly,  confidingly  in  mine, 

But  we  "11  meet  no  more  at  Bingen, — loved  Bingen  on  the  Rhine  I" 


His  voice  grew  faint  and  hoarser, — his  grasp  was  childish  weak, — 
His  eyes  put  on  a  dying  look, — ^he  sighed  and  ceased  to  speak : 
His  comrade  bent  to  lift  him,  but  the  spark  of  life  had  fled, — 
The  soldier  of  the  Legion,  in  a  foreign  land — was  dead ! 
And  the  soft  moon  rose  up  slowly,  and  calmly  she  looked  down, 
On  the  red  sand  of  the  battle-field,  with  bloody  corpses  strown  ; 
Yea,  calmly  on  that  dreadful  scene  her  pale  light  seemed  to  shine. 
As  it  shone  on  distant  Bingen, — fair  Bingen  on  the  Rhine  I 


EXERCISE    CVI. 

PARTING  OF  HECTOR  AND  ANDROMACHE 

pope's  homer's  iliaix 

Too  daring  prince !  ah,  whither  dost  thou  run  1 
Ah  !  too  forgetful  of  thy  wife  and  son  ! 
x\nd  think'st  thou  not  how  wretched  we  shall  be, 
A  widow  I,  a  helpless  orphan  he ' 


806  SANDERS'    NEW    SERIES. 

!For  sure  such  courage  length  of  life  denies, 
And  thou  must  fall,  thy  virtue 's  sacrifice. 
Greece  in  her  single  heroes  strove  in  vain ; 
Now  hosts  oppose  thee,  and  thou  must  be  slain ! 
O,  grant  me,  gods !  ere  Hector  meets  his  doom, 
All  I  can  ask  of  Heaven,  an  early  tomb ! 
So  shall  my  days  in  one  sad  tenor  run. 
And  end  with  sorrows  as  they  first  begun. 

2.  No  parent  now  remains  my  grief  to  share, 
No  father's  aid,  no  mother's  tender  care. 
The  fierce  Achilles  wrapped  our  walls  in  fire, 
Laid  Thebe  waste,  and  slew  my  warlike  sire ! 
His  fate  compassion  in  the  victor  bred ; 
Stern  as  he  was,  he  yet  revered  the  dead. 
His  radiant  arms  preserved  from  hostile  spoil. 
And  laid  him  decent  on  the  funeral  pile  : 

Then  raised  a  mountain  where  his  bones  were  burned: 
The  mountain  nymphs  the  rural  tomb  adorned  : 
Jove's  sylvan  daughters  bade  their  elms  bestow 
A  barren  shade,  and  in  his  honor  grow. 

3.  By  the  same  arm  my  seven  brave  brothers  fell ; 
In  one  sad  day  beheld  the  gates  of  hell ; 

While  the  fat  herds  and  snowy  flocks  they  fed, 
Amid  their  fields  the  hapless  heroes  bled ! 
My  mother  lived  to  bear  the  victor's  bands, 
The  queen  of  Hippoplacia's  silver  lands ; 
Redeemed  too  late,  she  scarce  beheld  again 
Her  pleasing  empire  and  her  native  plain, 
When,  ah  !  oppressed  by  life-consuming  woe 
She  fell  a  victim  to  Diana's  bow. 

4.  Yet,  while  my  Hector  still  survives,  I  see 
My  father,  mother,  brethren,  all  in  thee ; 
Alas !  my  parents,  brothers,  kindred,  all 
Once  more  will  perish,  if  my  Hector  fall. 


YOUNa    LADIES'  EEADER.  807 

Thy  wife,  thy  infant,  in  thy  danger  share  ; 
O,  prove  a  husband's  and  a  father's  care ! 
That  quarter  most  the  skillful  Greeks  annoy, 
Where  yon  wild  fig-trees  join  the  walls  of  Troy  ; 
Thou  from  this  tower  defend  the  important  post ; 
There  Agamemnon  points  his  dreadful  host ; 
That  pass  Tydides,  Ajax,  strive  to  gain, 
And  there  the  vengeful  Spartan  fires  his  train. 
Thrice  our  bold  foes  the  fierce  attack  have  given, 
Or  led  by  hopes,  or  dictated  from  Heaven. 
Let  others  in  the  field  their  arms  employ, 
But  stay  my  Hector  here,  and  guard  his  Troy. 

5.  The  chief  replied  :  That  post  shall  be  my  care. 
Not  that  alone,  but  all  the  works  of  war. 

How  would  the  sons  of  Troy,  in  arms  renowned, 

And  Troy's  proud  dames  whose  garments  sweep  the 

Attaint  the  luster  of  my  former  name,  [ground, 

Should  Hector  basely  quit  the  field  of  fame  ? 

My  early  youth  was  bred  to  martial  pains, 

My  soul  impels  me  to  the  embattled  plains : 

Let  me  be  foremost  to  defend  the  throne, 

And  guard  my  father's  glories  and  my  own. 

6.  Yet  come  it  will,  the  day  decreed  by  fates ; 
(How  my  heart  trembles  while  my  tongue  relates !) 
The  day' when  thou,  imperial  Troy  !  must  bend, 
And  see  thy  warriors  fall,  thy  glories  end. 

And  yet  no  dire  presage  so  wounds  my  mind, 
My  mother's  death,  the  ruin  of  my  kind. 
Not  Priam's  hoary  hairs  defiled  with  gore, 
Not  all  my  brothers  gasping  on  the  shore, 
As  thine,  Andromache  !  thy  griefs  I  dread. 

7.  I  see  thee  trembling,  weeping,  captive  led  ! 
In  Argive  looms  our  battles  to  design. 

And  woes,  of  which  so  large  a  part  was  thine ! 


SANDEKS'     NEW     SERIES 

To  bear  the  victor's  hard  commands,  or  bring 
The  weight  of  waters  from  Hyperia's  spring. 
There,  while  you  groan  beneath  the  load  of  life, 
They  cry  :  '•  Behold  the  mighty  Hector's  wife  !" 
Some  haughty  Greek,  who  lives  thy  tears  to  see, 
Embitters  all  thy  woes  by  naming  me. 
The  thoughts  of  glory  past,  and  present  shame, 
A  thousand  griefs  shall  waken  at  the  name ! 
May  I  lie  cold  before  that  dreadful  day. 
Pressed  with  a  load  of  monumental  clay  ! 
Thy  Hector,  wrapt  in  everlasting  sleep. 
Shall  neither  hear  thee  sigh,  nor  see  thee  weep. 

8.  Thus  having  spoke,  the  illustrious  chief  of  Troy 

Stretched  his  fond  arms  to  clasp  the  lovely  boy. 
The  babe  clung  crying  to  his  nurse's  breast. 
Scared  at  the  dazzling  helm  and  nodding  crest. 
"With  secret  pleasure  each  fond  parent  smiled, 
^  And  Hector  hasted  to  relieve  his  child ; 
The  glittering  terrors  from  his  brows  unbound. 
And  placed  the  beaming  helmet  on  the  ground. 
Then  kissed  the  child,  and,  lifting  high  in  air. 
Thus  to  the  gods  preferred  a  father's  prayer : 

9.  O  thou !  whose  glory  fills  the  ethereal  throne, 
And  all  ye  deathless  powers !  protect  my  son  ! 
Grant  him,  like  me,  to  purchase  just  renown. 
To  guard  the  Trojans,  to  defend  the  crown. 
Against  his  country's  foes  the  war  to  wage, 
And  rise  the  Hector  of  the  future  age ! 

So  when  triumphant  from  successful  toils. 
Of  heroes  slain  he  bears  the  reeking  spoils. 
Whole  hosts  may  hail  him  with  deserved  acclaim. 
And  say :  "  This  chief  transcends  his  father's  fame ;' 
While  pleased,  amidst  the  general  shouts  of  Troy 
His  mother's  conscious  heart  o'erflows  with  joy. 


YOUNG    LADIES'    READER.  309 

10.  He  spoke,  and  fondly  gazing  on  her  charnris, 
Restored  the  pleasing  burden  to  her  arms ; 
Soft  on  her  fragrant  breast  the  babe  he  laid, 
Hushed  to  repose,  and  with  a  smile  surveyed. 
The  troubled  pleasure  soon  chastised  by  fear, 
She  mingled  with  the  smile  a  tender  tear. 

The  softened  chief  with  kind  compassion  viewed, 
And  dried  the  falling  drops,  and  thus  pursued  : 

11.  Andromache  !  my  soul's  far  better  part ! 
Why  with  untimely  sorrows  heaves  thy  heart  ? 
No  hostile  hand  can  antedate  my  doom. 

Till  fate  condemns  me  to  the  silent  tomb. 
Fixed  is  the  term  to  all  the  race  of  earth ; 
And,  such  the  hard  condition  of  our  birth, 
No  force  can  then  resist,  no  flight  can  save ; 
All  sink  alike,  the  fearful  and  the  brave. 
No  more — ^but  hasten  to  thy  tasks  at  home. 
There  guide  the  spindle,  and  direct  the  loom ; 
Me  glory  summons  to  the  martial  scene  ; 
The  field  of  combat  is  the  sphere  for  men ; 
Where  heroes  war,  the  foremost  place  I  claim, 
The  first  in  danger,  as  the  first  in  fame. 


EXERCISE    CVII. 
THE  DESERT  AND  THE  GARDEN. 

KEV.    HOLLIS   RKKD. 

.  1.  Imagine  yourself  in  the  interior  of  India,  on  one  of 
those  boundless  plains  which  characterize  the  country  called 
the  Deccan.  Here  the  eye  stretches  in  vain  for  a  limit,  un- 
less some  rising  hillock  breaks  the  prospect.  Neither  fence, 
nor  hedge,  nor  forest,  interrupts  the  monotony  of  the  scene. 
Not  ft  tree  relieves  the  eye,  except  it  be  near  a  well,  or  reser- 
voir ^f  water. 


810  SANDERS'     NEW     SERIES. 

2.  It  was  in  the  early  part  of  June.  Eight  months  had 
already  elapsed  since  the  fall  of  a  single  shower  of  rain.  Not 
a  shrub,  not  a  blade  of  grass,  not  a  relic  of  former  vegetation 
was  to  be  seen,  except  where  the  soil  had  been  artificially 
irrigated.  Here  and  there  a  shade-tree,  or  a  fruit-tree,  whose 
roots  penetrate  far  beneath  the  surface,  can  survive  the  dearth 
of  the  hot  season.  Dreariness  and  desolation  cover  the  land 
on  every  side. 

3.  At  an  early  hour,  we  left  our  resting-place,  a  kind  of 
caravansary.  The  atmosphere  was  slightly  refreshing,  though 
not  cool.  But  no  sooner  had  the  sun  appeared  above  the  ho- 
rizon, than  we  began  to  wither  beneath  the  intensity  of  his 
rays.  It  was  scarcely  nine,  when  the  hot  wind,  a  kind  of 
sirocco,  commenced,  which,  added  to  the  scorching  of  the 
heated  earth,  rendered  traveling  almost  intolerable.  We 
sought  a  place  for  shelter. 

4.  Casting  our  eyes  to  the  left,  we  explored  an  immense 
waste  plain,  which  apparently  extended  to  the  shore  of  an  in- 
terminable ocean.  Knowing  well  that  we  were  in  the  interior 
of  a  great  country,  and  far  from  sea,  lake,  or  river,  we  recog- 
nized, for  the  first  time,  in  this  appearance,  the  mirage,  or  ex- 
traordinary optical  illusion,  formed  by  the  refraction  of  a 
vertical  sun  from  the  heated  earth.  So  perfect  is  the  decep- 
tion, that  deer,  and  other  animals,  have  died  from  exhaustion 
while  pursuing  the  retiring  phantom. 

5.  But,  from  the  opposite  side,  we  saw  a  reality,  nearer  at 
hand,  and  scarcely  less  wonderful, — a  verdant  spot,  fresh  and 
blooming.  Fragrance  in  the  midst  of  desolation.  A  fertile 
island  in  the  bosom  of  an  ocean  of  sand.  Spring  amid  the 
deadness  of  autumn.  Wearied  by  travel,  and  almost  suffo- 
cated by  dust  and  heat,  we  drew  near  as  to  the  "  shadow  of  a 
great  rock  in  a  weary  land." 

6.  How  cheering  amidst  such  desolation,  how  refreshing  to 
the  pilgrim  Feneath  the  rays  of  a  tropical  sun,  to  behold  a 
green  field,  a  cool,  fair  garden,  whose  trees  bend  with  fruit, 
whose  flowers  diffuse  perfume,  whose  atmosphere  breathes 


YOUNG    LADIES'  EEADER.  311 

the  salubrity  of  a  temperate  clime  !  Hasting  to  this  enchant- 
ed spot,  we  pitched  our  tent  beneath  the  thick  foliage  and 
wide-spreading  branches  of  a  tamarind  tree. 

7.  How  changed  the  scene !  It  was  a  garden  of  several 
acres  in  extent.  Every  plant  and  flower,  every  shrub  and 
tree,  was  clad  in  the  richest  verdure.  Here  was  a  compart- 
ment filled  with  healthful  vegetables.  Near  it  was  ripening 
grain,  corn  in  "  the  blade,  or  in  the  ear ;"  then  a  tuft  of  trees, 
loaded  with  blossoms,  or  enriched  with  perfected  fruit.  The 
tamarind,  the  mango,  and  the  orange,  the  lemon  and  pome 
granate,  the  citron  and  banana,  were  here  in  their  glory. 
Here,  also,  were  the  rose,  the  lily,  the  jasmine,  and  countless 
other  flowers  peculiar  to  the  tropics,  and  the  luxuriant  vine- 
yard, maturing  its  rich  clusters.  And,  among  the  embower- 
ing verdure,  the  warbling  songsters  found  a  pleasant  retreat 
from  the  tyrant  rage  of  an  Indian  sun. 

8.  What  a  contrast  with  the  surrounding  country  I  What 
a  fulfillment  of  the  sublime  promise  of  the  Hebrew  prophet : 
"  The  wilderness  and  the  solitary  place  shall  be  glad,  and  the 
desert  rejoice  and  blossom  as  the  rose.  It  shall  blossom 
abundantly,  and  rejoice  with  joy  and  singing ;  the  glory  of 
Lebanon  shall  be  given  unto  it,  the  excellency  of  Carmel  and 
Sharon." 

9.  But  what  caused  this  sudden  springing  forth  of  beauty  1 
K  fountain  was  there,  deep  and  broad,  sending  forth  copious 
streams  to  fructify  the  surrounding  region.  Fertility  in  the 
East  depends  much  on  an  artificial  supply  of  water.  If  this 
can  be  freely  commanded,  vegetation  is  rapid  and  abundant. 
The  intense  heat,  and  plentiful  moisture,  make  even  barren- 
ness prolific.  Seed-time  and  harvest  meet.  A  succession 
of  crops,  thrice,  or  even  four  times,  in  a  year,  are  realized. 
Spring,  summer,  and  autumn  blend  in  one  continued  harvest- 
hymn  of  praise. 

10.  The  garden,  or  field,  is  usually  divided  into  compart- 
ments of  fifteen  or  twenty  square  feet.  In  the  center  is  a 
fountain  or  well,  and  near  it  a  small  reservoir.    From  thence, 


312  SANDERS'    NEW    SERIES. 

the  main  watercourse  extends  to  some  convenient  direction, 
and  smaller  channels  are  led  from  it,  in  branches,  to  every 
separate  compartment.  The  water  is  raised  by  oxen,  at- 
tached to  a  long  rope,  which  passes  over  a  windlass,  and  is 
made  fast  to  an  enormous  leathern  bucket.  When  a  great 
quantity  is  thus  thrown  into  the  reservoir,  it  spontaneously- 
flows  into  the  principal  channel,  from  whence  the  gardener 
conducts  it  at  his  pleasure.  "  The  rivers  of  waters  are  in 
his  hand  ;  he  turneth  them  whithersoever  he  will." 

11.  When  the  stream  begins  to  flow  from  the  reservoir,  he 
stations  himself  at  the  channel  which  conveys  it  to  the  first 
compartment,  and,  removing  with  his  foot  a  slight  mound  of 
earth,  directs  thither  as  much  water  as  is  requisite  for  its  irri- 
gation. Closing  that  avenue,  he  proceeds  to  the  second, 
thence  to  the  third,  and  thus  onward  till  all  have  been  visit- 
ed. This  is  repeated  every  morning  and  evening,  and  it  mat- 
ters  little  how  large  the  field  is,  if  the  fountain  contains  a  suf- 
ficient supply. 

12.  But,  if  the  space  to  be  irrigated  is  out  of  proportion, 
or  the  fountain  diminished  by  drouth,  vegetation  withers, 
or  becomes  extinct.  The  further  you  recede  from  the  cen- 
ter, the  more  blighted  does  every  thing  appear.  The  water 
is  too  low,  the  impetus  too  feeble,  to  reach  the  remoter 
bounds.  This  constant  and  laborious  process  of  cultivation 
explains  the  inspired  description  of  a  tropical  region  ;  where 
"  thou  sowedst  thy  seed,  and  wateredst  it  with  thy  foot,  as  a 
garden  of  herbs." 

13.  We  know  that  Lebanon  was  renowned  for  its  sublime 
scenery ;  that  its  lofty  cedars,  its  plantations  of  olive,  its  vine- 
yards, producing  the  choicest  wines,  its  crystal  streams,  its 
fertile  vales,  and  odoriferous  shrubberies,  combined  to  form 
what,  in  the  poetic  style  of  prophecy,  is  called  "  its  glory." 
Mount  Carmel  is  proverbial,  in  the  sacred  volume,  for  its  un- 
fading verdure  and  surpassing  fertility.  Sharon,  an  extensive 
plain,  to  the  south  of  Carmel,  celebrated  for  its  vines,  flow- 
ers, and  green  pastures,  and  adorned  in  early  spring  with  the 


YOUNG     LADIES'     READER.  813 

white  and  red  rose,  the  narcissus,  the  white  and  the  orange 
lily,  the  carnation,  and  a  countless  variety  of  other  flowers, 
with  its  groves  of  olive  and  sycamore,  is  but  another  name 
"  for  excellency"  and  beauty. 

14.  But  what  did  the  propliet  intend  to  illustrate  by  these 
forcible  and  significant  emblems  1  Doubtless  a  vision  burst 
upon  his  mind,  no  less  magnificent  than  the  boundless  dis- 
persion of  the  waters  of  life,  the  reclaiming  of  a  desert  world, 
the  clothing  it  with  the  golden  fruits  of  immortality.  Be- 
hold, in  the  heart  of  the  wilderness,  a  fountain  breaks  forth. 
Sterility  blossoms,  desolation  lifts  up  its  head,  with  "  joy  and 
singing." 

15.  Is  not  our  earth  as  a  great  moral  desert,  whence  the 
"glory  and  excellency"  of  Eden  have  departed  1  The  fruits 
of  righteousness  shrank  from  its  forbidden  soil.  Sin,  by  its 
fearful  monoply,  sought  to  cover  its  whole  face  with  tares. 
How  shall  this  barren  waste  be  redeemed  from  its  desola- 
tion ?  The  wise  landholder  of  the  East,  when  he  would  re- 
claim a  barren  jungle  to  fertility,  provides  a  fountain  of  wa- 
ter, lets  out  his  ground  to  husbandmen,  and  makes  them  ac- 
countable for  its  improvement.  Thus  hath  the  Almighty 
provided,  in  our  moral  desert,  a  fountain  of  the  waters  of 
life,  fathomless,  boundless,  inexhaustible.  "  O,  the  depth  of 
the  riches,  both  of  the  wisdom  and  knowledge  of  God." 


EXERCISE    CVIII. 


JEFFREY'S  CHARGE  AGAINST   LORD   BYRON. 

JEFFREY. 

1.  The  charge  we  bring  against  Lord  Byron,  in  short,  is, 
that  his  writings  have  a  tendency  to  destroy  all  belief  in  the 
reality  of  virtue — and  to  make  all  enthusiasm  and  constancy 
of  affection  ridiculous ;  and  this,  not  so  much  by  direct  max- 
ims and  examples,  of  an  imposing  or  seducing  kind,  as  by 

14 


814  SANDERS'  NEW    SERIES. 

the  constant  exhibition  of  the  most  profligate  heartlessness  in 
the  persons  who  had  been  transiently  represented  as  actuated 
by  the  purest  and  most  exalted  emotions — and  in  the  lessons 
of  that  very  teacher  who  had  been,  but  a  moment  before,  so 
beautifully  pathetic  in  the  expression  of  the  loftiest  conceptions. 

2.  When  a  gay  voluptuary  descants,  somewhat  too  freely, 
on  the  intoxications  of  love  and  wine,  we  ascribe  his  excesses 
to  the  effervescence  of  youthful  spirits,  and  do  not  consider 
him  as  seriously  impeaching  either  the  value  or  the  reality  of 
the  severer  virtues ;  and,  in  the  same  way,  when  the  satirist 
deals  out  his  sarcasms  against  the  sincerity  of  human  pro- 
fessions, and  unmasks  the  secret  infirmities  of  our  bosoms,  we 
consider  this  as  aimed  at  hypocrisy,  and  not  at  mankind  :  or, 
at  all  events,  and  in  either  case,  we  consider  the  sensualist  and 
the  misanthrope  as  wandering,  each  in  his  own  delusion — and 
are  contented  to  pity  those  who  have  never  known  the  charms 
of  a  tender  or  generous  affection. 

3.  The  true  antidote  to  such  seductive  or  revolting  views 
of  human  nature,  is  to  turn  to  the  scenes  of  its  nobleness  and 
attraction ;  and  to  reconcile  ourselves  again  to  our  kind,  by 
listening  to  the  accents  of  pure  affection  and  incorruptible 
honor.  But,  if  those  accents  have  flowed  in  all  their  sweet- 
ness from  the  very  lips  that  instantly  open  again  to  mock  and 
blaspheme  them,  the  antidote  is  mingled  with  the  poison,  and 
the  draught  is  the  more  deadly  for  the  mixture  ! 

4.  The  reveler  may  pursue  his  orgies,  and  the  wanton  dis- 
play her  enchantments,  with  comparative  safety  to  those 
around  them,  as  long  as  they  know  or  believe,  that  there  are 
purer  and  higher  enjoyments,  and  teachers  and  followers  of  a 
happier  way.  But,  if  the  priest  pass  from  the  altar,  with  per* 
suasive  exhortations  to  peace  and  purity  still  trembling  on  his 
tongue,  to  join  familiarly  in  the  grossest  and  most  profane  de- 
bauchery— if  the  matron,  who  has  charmed  all  hearts  by  the 
lovely  sanctimonies  of  her  conjugal  and  maternal  endearments, 
glides  out  from  the  circle  of  her  children,  and  gives  bold  and 
shameless  way  to  the  most  abandoned  and  degrading  vices — 


YOQNG     LADIES'     KEADEE.  815 

our  notions  of  right  and  wrong  are  at  once  confounded — our 
confidence  in  virtue  shaken  to  the  foundation — and  our  reli- 
ance on  truth  and  fidelity  at  an  end  forever. 

5.  This  is  the  charge  which  we  bring  against  Lord  Byron. 
We  say  that  under  some  strange  misapprehension  as  to  the 
truth,  and  the  duty  of  proclaiming  it,  he  has  exerted  all  the 
powers  of  his  powerful  mind  to  convince  his  readers,  both  di- 
rectly and  indirectly,  that  all  ennobling  pursuits,  and  disinter- 
ested virtues,  are  mere  deceits  or  illusions — hollow  and  des- 
picable mockeries,  for  the  most  part,  and,  at  best,  but  laborious 
follies.  Religion,  love,  patriotism,  valor,  devotion,  constancy, 
ambition — all  are  to  be  laughed  at,  disbelieved  in,  and  de- 
spised !  and  nothing  is  really  good,  so  far  as  we  can  gather, 
but  a  succession  of  dangers  to  stir  the  blood,  and  of  banquets 
and  intrigues  to  soothe  it  again  ! 

6.  If  this  doctrine  stood  alone  with  its  examples,  it  would 
revolt,  we  believe,  more  than  it  would  seduce.  But  the  author 
has  the  unlucky  gift  of  personating  all  those  sweet  and  lofty 
illusions,  and  that  with  such  grace  and  force,  and  truth  to  na- 
ture, that  it  is  impossible  not  to  suppose,  for  the  time,  that  he 
is  among  the  most  devoted  of  their  votaries — till  he  casts  off 
the  character  with  a  jerk — and,  the  moment  after  he  has 
moved  and  exalted  us  to  the  very  hight  of  our  conception, 
resumes  his  mockery  at  all  things  serious  or  sublime, — and 
lets  us  down  at  once  on  some  coarse  joke,  hard-hearted  sar- 
casm, or  fierce  and  relentless  personality,  as  if  on  purpose  to 
show 

"  Whoe'er  was  edified,  himself  was  not," 

or  to  demonstrate  practically  as  it  were,  and,  by  example, 
how  possible  it  is  to  have  all  fine  and  noble  feelings,  or  their 
appearance,  for  a  moment,  and  yet  retain  no  particle  of  re- 
spect for  them,  or  of  belief  in  their  intrinsic  worth  or  perma- 
nent reality. 


dl6  SANDERS'    NEW    SERIES. 


EXERCISE    CIX. 
LORD   BYRON 

SOBEKT  POIJX>K. 

1.    Take  one  example,  to  our  purpose  quite, 
A  man  of  rank,  and  of  capacious  soul, 
Who  riches  had,  and  fame,  beyond  desire ; 
An  heir  of  flattery,  to  titles  born, 
And  reputation,  and  luxurious  life  : 
Yet,  not  content  with  ancestorial  name. 
Or  to  be  known,  because  his  fathers  were. 
He  on  this  hight  hereditary  stood, 
And,  gazing  higher,  purposed  in  his  heart, 
To  take  another  step. 

2.  Above  him  seemed, 
Alone,  the  mount  of  song,  the  lofty  seat 
Of  canonized  bards,  and  thitherward. 
By  Nature  taught,  and  inward  melody, 
In  prime  of  youth,  he  bent  his  eagle  eye. 

No  cost  was  spared.     What  books  he  wished,  he  read ; 
What  sage  to  hear,  he  heard  ;  what  scenes  to  see, 
He  saw.     And  first  in  rambling  school-boy  days, 
Britannia's  mountain-walks,  and  heath-girt  lakes. 
And  story-telling  glens,  and  founts,  and  brooks. 
And  maids,  as  dew-drops,  pure  and  fair,  his  soul 
With  grandeur  filled,  and  melody,  and  love. 

3.  Then  travel  came,  and  took  him  where  he  wished. 
He  cities  saw,  and  courts,  and  princely  pomp  ; 
And  mused  ialone  on  ancient  mountain-brows ; 
And  mused  on  battle-fields,  where  valor  fought 

In  other  days ;  and  mused  on  ruins  gray 

With  years  ;  and  drank  from  old  and  fabulous  wells, 

And  plucked  the  vine  that  first-born  prophets  plucked  ; 


YOUNG    LADIES'     READEK.  817 

And  mused  on  famous  tombs,  and  on  the  wave 
Of  ocean  mused,  and  on  the  desert  waste ; 
The  heavens  and  earth  of  every  country  saw. 
Where'er  the  old  inspiring  Genii  dwelt, 
Aught  that  could  rouse,  expand,  refine  the  soul, 
Thither  he  went,  and  meditated  there. 

4.  He  touched  his  harp,  and  nations  heard  entranced. 
As  some  vast  river  of  unfailing  source, 

Rapid,  exhaustless,  deep,  his  numbers  flowed, 
And  opened  new  fountains  in  the  human  heart. 
Where  fancy  halted,  weary  in  her  flight. 
In  other  men,  his,  fresh  as  morning,  rose. 
And  soared  untrodden  hights,  and  seemed  at  home, 
.  Where  angels  bashful  looked.     Others,  though  great, 
Beneath  their  argument  seemed  struggling ;  whiles 
He  from  above  descending,  stooped  to  touch 
The  loftiest  thought ;  and  proudly  stooped,  as  though 
It  scarce  deserved  his  verse. 

5.  ■  With  Nature's  self 
He  seemed  an  old  acquaintance,  free  to  jest 
At  will  with  all  her  glorious  majesty. 

He  laid  his  hand  upon  "  the  Ocean's  mane," 
And  played  familiar  with  his  hoary  locks. 
Stood  on  the  Alps,  stood  on  the  Apennines, 
And  with  the  thunder  talked,  as  friend  to  friend ; 
And  wove  his  garland  of  the  lightning's  wing. 
In  sportive  twist, — the  lightning's  fiery  wing. 
Which,  as  the  footsteps  of  the  dreadful  God, 
Marching  upon  the  storm  in  vengeance  seemed  : 
Then  turned,  and  with  the  grasshopper,  that  sung 
His  evening  song  beneath  his  feet,  conversed. 

6.  Suns,  moons,  and  stars,  and  clouds  his  sisters  were  ; 
Rocks,  mountains,  meteors,  seas,  and  winds,  and  storms, 


818  SANDERS'    NEW    SERIES. 

His  brothers, — younger  brothers,  whom  he  scarce 
As  equals  deemed.     All  passions  of  all  men, — 
The  wild  and  tame, — the  gentle  and  severe ; 
All  tho  Jghts,  all  maxims,  sacred  and  profane ; 
All  creeds  ;  all  seasons.  Time,  Eternity  ; 
All  that  was  hated,  and  all  that  was  dear  ; 
All  that  was  hoped,  and  all  that  was  feared  by  man. 
He  tossed  about,  as  tempest,  withered  leaves, 
Then  smiling  looked  upon  the  wreck  he  made, 

7    With  terror  now  he  froze  the  cowering  blood ; 
And  now  dissolved  the  heart  in  tenderness  : 
Yet  would  not  tremble,  would  not  weep  himself; 
But  back  into  his  soul  retired,  alone. 
Dark,  sullen,  proud  :  gazing  contemptuously 
On  hearts  and  passions  prostrate  at  his  feet. 
So  Ocean  from  the  plains  his  waves  had  late 
To  desolation  swept,  retired  in  pride, 
Exulting  in  the  glory  of  his  might. 
And  seemed  to  mock  the  ruin  he  had  wrought. 

8.  As  some  fierce  comet  of  tremendous  size, 

To  which  the  stars  did  reverence,  as  it  passed  ; 

So  he  through  learning,  and  through  fancy  took 

His  flight  sublime ;  and  on  the  loftiest  top 

Of  Fame's  dread  mountain  sat :  not  soiled,  and  worn, 

As  if  he  from  the  earth  had  labored  up  ; 

But,  as  some  bird  of  heavenly  plumage  fair. 

He  looked,  which  down  from  higher  regions  came. 

And  perched  it  there,  to  see  what  lay  beneath, 

9.  The  nations  gazed,  and  wondered  much,  and  praised ; 
Critics  before  him  fell  in  humble  plight ; 
Confounded  fell ;  and  made  debasing  signs  * 
To  catch  his  eye ;  and  stretched,  and  swelled  themselves, 


YOUNG     LADIES'    READER.  819 


To  bursting  nigh,  to  utter  bulky  words 
Of  admiration  vast :  and  many,  too, 
Many  that  aimed  to  imitate  his  flight, 
With  weaker  wing,  unearthly  fluttering  made, 
And  gave  abundant  sport  to  after  days. 

10.  Great  man !  the  nations  gazed,  and  wondered  much, 
And  praised  ;  and  many  called  his  evil  good. 
Wits  wrote  in  favor  of  his  wickedness ; 

And  kings  to  do  him  honor  took  delight. 

Thus  full  of  titles,  flattery,  honor,  fame ; 

Beyond  desire,  beyond  ambition  full, — 

He  died — ^he  died  of  what  1     Of  wretchedness. 

Drank  every  cup  of  joy,  heard  every  trump 

Of  fame  ;  drank  early,  deeply  drank  ;  drank  draughts 

That  common  millions  might  have  quenched,  then  died 

Of  thirst,  because  there  was  no  more  to  drink. 

His  goddess,  Nature,  wooed,  embraced,  enjoyed, 

Fell  from  his  arms,  abhorred  ;  his  passions  died, 

Died,  all  but  dreary,  solitary  pride  ; 

And  all  his  sympathies  in  being  died. 

11.  As  some  ill-guided  bark,  well  built,  and  tall, 
Which  angry  tides  cast  out  on  desert  shore, 
And  then,  retiring,  left  it  there  to  rot 

And  molder  in  the  winds  and  rains  of  heaven ; 

So  he,  cut  from  the  sympathies  of  life. 

And  cast  ashore  from  pleasure's  boisterous  surge, 

A  wandering,  weary,  worn,  and  wretched  thing. 

Scorched,  and  desolate,  and  blasted  soul, 

A  gloomy  wilderness  of  dying  thought, 

Repined,  and  groaned,  and  withered  from  the  earth. 

His  groanings  filled  the  land,  his  numbers  filled ; 

And  yet  he  seem'd  ashamed  to  groan  :  Poor  man  !— 

Ashamed  to  ask,  and  yet  he  needed  help. 


520  SANDERS'     NEW     SERIES. 

12.  Proof  this,  beyond  all  lingering  of  doubt, 
That  not  with  natural  or  mental  wealth 
Was  God  delighted,  or  His  peace  secured ; 
That  not  in  natural  or  mental  wealth 
Was  human  happiness  or  grandeur  found. 
Attempt  how  monstrous,  and  how  surely  vain 
With  thhigs  of  earthly  sort,  with  aught  but  God, 
With  aught  but  moral  excellence,  truth,  and  love, 
To  satisfy  and  fill  the  immortal  soul ! 
Attempt,  vain  inconceivably  !  attempt 
To  satisfy  the  Ocean  with  a  drop. 
To  marry  Immortality  to  Death, 
And  with  the  unsubstantial  Shade  of  Time 
To  fill  the  embrace  of  all  Eternity  ! 


EXERCISE  ex. 
THE   RAVEN. 

FJSGAR   A.   P0» 
L 

Once  upon  a  midnight  dreary,  while  I  pondered,  weak  and  weary 
Over  many  a  quaint  and  curious  volume  of  forgotten  lore, — 
While  I  nodded,  nearly  napping,  suddenly  there  came  a  tapping, 
As  of  some  one  gently  rapping,  rapping  at  my  chamber-door — 
"'T  is  some  visitor,"  I  muttered,  "tapping  at  my  chamber-door — 
Only  this,  and  nothing  more." 

IL 

Ah,  distinctly  I  remember,  it  was  in  the  bleak  December 
And  each  separate  d3'ing  ember  wrought  its  ghost  upon  the  floor. 
Eagerly  I  wished  the  morrow ;  vainly  I  had  sought  to  borrow 
From  my  books  surcease  of  sorrow, — sorrow  for  the  lost  Lenore,— 
For  the  rare  and  radiant  maiden  whom  the  angels  name  Lenore, 
Nameless  here  for  evermore. 


And  the  silken,  sad,  uncertain  rustling  of  each  purple  ciirtain, 
Thrilled  me, — filled  me  with  fantastic  terrors  never  felt  b(  fore : 


YOUNG     LADIES'    READEE.  S21 

So  that  no"W,  to  still  the  beating  of  my  heart,  I  stood  repeating 
"'T  is  some  visitor  entreating  entrance  at  my  chamber-door, — 
Some  late  visitor  entreating  entrance  at  my  chamber-door ; 
That  it  ia,  and  nothing  more." 


Presently  my  soul  grew  stronger ;  hesitating  then  no  longer, 
"  Sir,"  said  I,  "or  Madam,"  truly  your  forgiveness  I  implore ; 
But  the  fact  is,  I  was  napping,  and  so  gently  you  came  rapping, 
And  so  faintl}'^  you  came  tapping,  tapping  at  my  chamber-door, 
That  I  scarce  was  sure  I  heard  you," — here  I  opened  wide  the  door  \ 
Darkness  there,  and  nothing  more. 

V. 

Deep  into  that  dai'kness  peering,  long  I  stood  there,   wondering, 

fearing. 
Doubting,  dreaming  dreams  no  mortals  ever  dared  to  dream  before; 
But  the  silence  was  unbroken,  and  the  stillness  gave  no  token, 
And  the  only  word  there  spoken,  was  the  whispered  word,  "  Lenorel" 
This  I  whispered,  and  an  echo  murmured  back  the  word,  '*  Lenore  1" 
Merely  this,  and  nothing  more. 


Back  into  the  chamber  turning,  all  my  soul  within  me  burning, 
Soon  again  I  heard  a  tapping,  something  louder  than  before. 
"Surely,"  said  I,  "  surely  that  is  something  at  my  window-lattice; 
Let  me  see  then  what  thereat  is,  and  this  mystery  explore, — 
Let  my  heart  be  still  a  momentj  and  this  mystery  explore  ; 
'Tis  the  wind,  and  nothing  more." 


Open  here  I  flung  the  shutter,  when,  with  many  a  flirt  and  flutter, 
In  there  stepped  a  stately  Raven  of  the  saintly  days  of  yore. 
Not  the  least  obeisance  made  he ;  not  a  minute  stopped  or  staid  he; 
But,  with  mien  of  lord  or  lady,  perched  above  my  chamber-door,- 
Perched  upon  a  bust  of  Pallas,  just  above  my  chamber-door — 
Perched,  and  sat,  and  nothing  nr'ore. 

vni. 
Then  this  ebony  bird  beguiling  my  sad  fancy  into  smiling, 
By  the  grave  and  stern  dec  >rum  of  the  countenance  it  wore, 

14* 


822  SANDEKS'  NEW    SERIES. 

*  Though  thy  crest  be  shorn  and  shaven,  thou,"  I  said,  "  art  sure  no 

craven. 
Ghastly,  grim  and  ancient  Raven,  -wandering  from  the  nightly  shore, 
Tell  me  what  thy  lordly  name  is  on  the  night's  Plutonian  shore  V 
Quoth  the  Raven,  *'  Nevermore  I" 

EC 

Much  I  marveled  this  ungainly  fowl  to  hear  discourse  so  plainly, 
Though  its  answer  little  meaning — little  relevancy  bore ; 
For  we  can  not  help  agreeing,  that  no  living  human  being 
Ever  yet  was  blessed  with  seeing  bird  above  his  chamber-door— 
Bird  or  beast  upon  the  sculptured  bust  above  his  chamber-door, 
"With  such  name  as  "  Nevermore." 


Startled  at  the  stillness,  broken  by  reply  so  aptly  spoken, 
**  Doubtless,"  said  I,  "  what  it  utters,  is  its  only  stock  and  store, 
Caught  from  some  unhappy  master,  whom  unmerciful  disaster 
Followed  fast  and  followed  faster,  till  his  songs  one  burden  bore, — 
Till  the  dirges  of  his  hope  that  melancholy  burden  bore, 
Of — ''  Never — nevermore  1" 

XI. 

But  the  Raven  still  beguiling  all  my  sad  soul  into  smiling. 
Straight  I  wheeled  a  cushioned  seat  in  front  of  bird  and  bust  and  door, 
Then,  upon  the  velvet  sinking,  I  betook  myself  to  linking 
Fancy  unto  fancy,  thinking  what  this  ominous  bird  of  yore — 
What  this  grim,  ungainly,  ghastly,  gaunt,  and  ominous  bird  of  yore, 
Meant  in  croaking  "  Nevermore  1" 


This  I  sat  engaged  in  guessing,  but  no  syllable  expressing 
To  the  fowl  whose  fiery  eyes  now  burned  into  my  bosom's  core ; 
This  and  more  I  sat  divining,  with  my  head  at  ease  reclining 
On  the  cushion's  velvet  lining  that  the  lamp-light  gloated  o'er, 
But  whose  velvet  violet  lining,  with  the  lamp-light  gloating  o'er, 
She  shall  press,  ah !  nevermore ! 

xni. 
Then   methought  the  air  grew  denser,  perfumed  from  an  unseen 

censer, 
Swung  Vy  seraphim  whose  foot-falls  tinkled  on  the  tufted  floor. 


YOUNG    LADIES'    READER.  323 


**  Wretch,"  I  cried,  "  thy  God  hath  lent  thee — by  these  angels  he  hath 

sent  thee, 
Respite — respite  and  nepenthe*  from  thy  memories  of  Lenore  I 
Quaff,  oh,  quaff  this  kind  nepenthe,  and  forget  this  lost  Lenore  \ 
Quoth  the  Raven,  "  Nevermore !" 

xrv. 
"  Prophet !"  said  I,  "  thing  of  evil ! — prophet  still,  if  bird  or  devil  1 
"Whether  tempter  sent,  or  whether  tempest  tossed  thee  here  ashore, 
Desolate,  yet  all  undaunted,  on  this  desert  land  enchanted — 
On  this  home  by  Horror  haunted — tell  me  truly  I  implore — 
Is  there — is  there  balm  in  Gilead? — tell  me — tell  me,  I  implore  1" 
Quoth  the  Raven,  "Nevermore!" 

XV. 

** Prophet!"  said  I,  thing  of  evil ! — prophet  still,  if  bird  or  devil ! 
By  that  heaven  that  bends  above  us — by  that  God  we  both  adore, — 
Tell  this  soul  with  sorrow  laden,  if  within  the  distant  Aidenn, 
It  shall  clasp  a  sainted  maiden,  whom  the  angels  name  Lenore ; 
Clasp  a  rare  and  radiant  maiden,  whom  the  angels  name  Lenore!** 
Quoth  the  Raven,  "  Nevermore !" 

XVL 

"Be  that  word  our  sign  of  parting,  bird  or  fiend!"  I  shrieked,  up- 
starting— 
**  Get  thee  back  into  the  tempest,  and  the  night's  Plutonian  shore  \ 
Leave  no  black  plume  as  a  token  of  that  lie  thy  soul  hath  spoken  I 
Leave  my  loneliness  unbroken ! — quit  the  bust  above  my  door  I 
Take  thy  beak  from  out  my  heart,  and  take  thy  form  from  off  my  doorl" 
Quoth  the  Raven,  "  Nevermore  !" 

xvn. 
And  the  Raven,  never  flitting,  still  is  sitting,  still  is  sitting 
On  the  pallid  bust  of  Pallas,  just  above  my  chamber-door; 
And  his  eyes  have  all  the  seeming  of  a  demon's  that  is  breaming. 
And  the  lamp-light  o'er  him  streaming  throws  his  shadow  on  the  floor; 
And  my  soul  from  out  that  shadow  that  lies  floating  on  the  floor 
Shall  be  lifted — nevermore ! 

♦  Nk  pen'  the,  a  drug  or  medicine  having  power  to  relieve  pain  and 
exhilarate  the  spirits. 


824  SANDERS'    NEW    SERIES. 

EXERCISE  CXI. 
THE  VISION  OF   CARAZAN. 

HAWKESWORTH. 

1.  Carazan,  the  merchant  of  Bagdat,  was  eminent  through- 
out all  the  East  for  his  avarice  and  his  wealth  ;  his  origin  is 
obscure,  as  that  of  the  spark  which,  by  the  collision  of  steel 
and  adamant,  is  struck  out  of  darkness  ;  and  the  patient  la- 
bor of  persevering  diligence  alone  had  made  him  rich.  It 
was  remembered,  that,  when  he  was  indigent,  he  was  thought 
to  be  generous  ;  and  he  was  still  acknowledged  to  be  inflexi- 
bly just. 

2.  But  whether,  irr  his  dealings  with  men,  he  discovered  a 
perfidy  which  tempted  him  to  put  his  trust  in  gold,  or  wheth- 
er, in  proportion  as  he  accumulated  wealth,  he  discovered  his 
own  importance  to  increase,  Carazan  prized  it  more  as  he  used 
it  less ;  he  gradually  lost  the  inclination  to  do  good,  as  he 
acquired  the  power ;  and,  as  the  hand  of  Time  scattered 
snow  upon  his  head,  the  freezing  influence  extended  to  his 
bosom. 

3.  But,  though  the  door  of  Carazan  was  never  opened  by 
hospitality,  nor  his  hand  by  compassion,  yet  fear  led  him  con- 
stantly to  the  mosque  at  the  stated  hours  of  prayer ;  he  per- 
formed all  the  rites  of  devotion  with  the  most  scrupulous 
punctuality,  and  had  thrice  paid  his  vows  at  the  temple  of  the 
Prophet.  That  devotion  which  arises  from  the  love  of  God, 
and  necessarily  includes  the  love  of  man,  as  it  connects  grati- 
tude with  beneficence,  and  exalts  that  which  was  moral  to  di- 
vine, confers  new  dignity  upon  goodness,  and  is  the  object, 
not  only  «r  affection,  but  reverence.  On  the  contrary,  the 
devotion  of  the  selfish,  whether  it  be  thought  to  avert  the 
punishment  which  every  one  wishes  to  be  inflicted,  or  to  in- 
sure it  by  the  complication  of  hypocrisy  with  guilt,  nevei 
fails  to  excite  indignation  and  abhorrence. 

4.  Cara?an,  therefore,  when  he  had  locked  his  door,  and 
fuming  round  with  a  look  of  circumspective  suspicion,  pro- 


YOUNG     LADIES'     READER.  825 

ceeded  to  the  mosque,  was  followed  by  every  eye  with  silent 
malignity ;  the  poor  suspended  their  supplication  when  ho 
passed  by ;  though  he  was  known  by  every  man,  yet  no  man 
saluted  hiin.  Such  had  long  been  the  life  of  Carazan,  and 
such  was  the  character  which  he  had  acquired,  when  notice  was 
given  by  proclamation,  that  he  was  removed  to  a  magnificent 
building  in  the  center  of  the  city,  that  his  table  should  be 
spread  for  the  public,  and  that  the  stranger  should  be  welcome 
to  his  bed. 

5.  The  multitude  soon  rushed  like  a  torrent  to  his  door, 
where  they  beheld  him  distributing  bread  to  the  hungry,  and 
apparel  to  the  naked,  his  eye  softened  with  compassion,  and 
his  cheek  glowing  with  delight.  Every  one  gazed  with  aston- 
ishment at  the  prodigy ;  and,  the  murmur  of  innumerable 
voices  increasing  like  the  sound  of  approaching  thunder,  Cara- 
zan beckoned  with  his  hand  :  attention  suspended  the  tumult 
in  a  moment ;  and  he  thus  gratified  the  curiosity  which  pro- 
cured him  audience  : — 

6.  "  To  Him  who  touches  the  mountains  and  they  smoke, 
the  Almighty  and  the  Most  Merciful,  be  everlasting  honor ! 
He  has  ordained  sleep  to  be  the  minister  of  instruction,  and 
His  visions  have  reproved  me  in  the  night.  As  I  was  sitting 
alone  in  my  harem,  with  my  lamp  burning  before  me,  com- 
puting the  product  of  my  merchandise,  and  exulting  in  the 
increase  of  my  wealth,  I  fell  into  a  deep  sleep,  and  the  hand 
of  Him  who  dwells  in  the  third  heaven,  was  upon  me. 

7.  "  I  beheld  the  angel  of  death  coming  forward  like  a 
whirlwind,  and  he  smote  me  before  1  could  deprecate  the 
blow.  At  the  same  moment,  I  felt  myself  lifted  from  the 
ground  and  transported,  with  astonishing  rapidity,  through 
the  regions  of  the  air.  The  earth  was  contracted  to  an  atom 
beneath ;  and  the  stars  glowed  round  me  with  a  luster  that 
obscured  the  sun.  The  gate  of  paradise  was  now  in  sight ; 
and  I  was  intercepted  by  a  sudden  brightness  which  no  human 
eye  could  behold. 

8.  *•  The  irrevocable  sentence  was  now  to  oe  pronounced  ; 


326  SANDERS'   NEW    SERIES. 


my  day  of  probation  was  past ;  and,  from  the  evil  of  my  life 
nothing  could  be  taken  away,  nor  could  any  thing  be  added 
to  the  good.  When  I  reflected  that  my  lot  for  eternity  was 
cast,  which  not  all  the  powers  of  nature  could  reverse,  my 
confidence  totallj  forsook  me ;  and,  while  I  stood  trembling 
and  silent,  covered  with  confusion  and  chilled  with  horror,  I 
was  thus  addressed  by  the  radiance  that  flamed  before  me  :— 

9.  "  '  Carazan,  thy  worship  has  not  been  accepted,  because 
it  was  not  prompted  by  love  of  God  ;  neither  can  thy  right- 
eousness be  rewarded,  because  it  was  not  produced  by  love 
of  man  ;  for  thy  own  sake  only,  hast  thou  rendered  to  every 
man  his  due ;  and  thou  hast  approached  the  Almighty  only 
for  thyself.  Thou  hast  not  looked  up  with  gratitude,  nor 
around  thee  with  kindness.  Around  thee  thou  hast,  indeed, 
beheld  vice  and  folly ;  but,  if  vice  and  folly  could  justify 
thy  parsimony,  would  they  not  condemn  the  bounty  of 
Heaven  *? 

10.  "  '  If  not  upon  the  foolish  and  the  vicious,  where  shall 
the  sun  diffuse  his  light,  or  the  clouds  distill  their  dew? 
Where  shall  the  lips  of  the  Spring  breathe  fragrance,  or  the 
hand  of  Autumn  diffuse  plenty  1  Remember,  Carazan,  that 
thou  hast  shut  compassion  from  thy  heart,  and  grasped  thy 
treasures  with  a  hand  of  iron :  thou  hast  lived  for  thyself; 
and,  therefore,  hencefortlk  forever  thou  shalt  subsist  alone. 
From  the  light  of  heaven,  and  from  the  society  of  all  beings, 
shalt  thou  be  driven ;  solitude  shall  protract  the  lingering  hours 
of  eternity,  and  darkness  aggravate  the  horrors  of  despair.' 

11.  "  At  this  moment  I  was  driven  by  some  secret  and  ir- 
resistible power,  through  the  glowing  system  of  creation,  and 
passed  innumerable  worlds  in  a  moment.  As  I  approached 
the  verge  of  nature,  I  perceived  the  shadows  of  total  and 
boundless  vacuity  deepen  before  me,  a  dreadful  region  of 
eternal  silence,  solitude,  and  darkness !  Unutterable  horror 
seized  me  at  the  prospect,  and  this  exclamation  burst  from 
me  with  all  tje  vehemence  of  desire :  '  O  !  that  I  had  been 
doomed  forever  to  the  common  receptacle  of  impenitence  and 


YOUNG     LADIES'    READER.  827 

guilt !  There  society  would  have  alleviated  the  torment  of 
despair,  and  the  rage  of  fire  could  not  have  excluded  the  com- 
fort of  light.  Or,  if  I  had  been  condemned  to  reside  in  a 
comet,  that  would  return  but  once  in  a  thousand  years  to  the 
regions  of  light  and  life,  the  hope  of  these  periods,  however 
distant,  would  cheer  me  in  the  dread  interval  of  cold  and 
darkness,  and  the  vicissitudes  would  divide  eternity  into 
time.' 

12.  "  While  this  thought  passed  over  my  mind,  I  lost  sight 
of  the  remotest  star,  and  the  last  glimmering  of  light  was 
quenched  in  utter  darkness.  The  agonies  of  despair  every 
moment  increased,  as  every  moment  augmented  my  distance 
from  the  last  habitable  world.  I  reflected  with  intolerable 
anguish,  that,  when  ten  thousand  thousand  years  had  carried 
me  beyond  the  reach  of  all  but  that  Power  who  fills  infini- 
tude, I  should  still  look  forward  into  an  immense  abyss  of 
darkness,  through  which  I  should  still  drive  without  succor 
and  without  society,  farther  and  farther  still,  forever  and 
forever. 

13.  "I  then  stretched  out  my  hands  toward  the  regions  of 
existence,  with  an  emotion  that  awakened  me.  Thus  have  I 
been  taught  to  estimate  society,  like  every  other  blessing,  by 
its  loss.  My  heart  is  warmed  to  liberality  ;  and  I  am  zealous 
to  communicate  the  happiness  which  I  feel  to  those,  from 
whom  it  is  derived  ;  for  the  society  of  one  wretch,  whom,  in 
the  pride  of  prosperity,  I  would  have  spurned  from  my  door, 
would,  in  the  dreadful  solitude  to  which  I  was  condemned, 
have  been  more  highly  prized  than  the  gold  of  Africa,  or  the 
gems  of  Golconda." 

14.  At  this  reflection  upon  his  dream,  Carazan  became 
suddenly  silent,  and  looked  upward  in  ecstasy  of  gratitude 
and  devotion.  The  multitude  were  struck  ah  once  with  the 
precept  and  example  ;  and  the  caliph,  to  whom  the  event  was 
related,  that  he  might  be  liberal  beyond  the  power  of  gold, 
commanded  it  to  be  recorded  for  the  benefit  of  posterity. 


828  SANDERS'     NEW     SERIES. 


EXERCISE    CXII. 

GEHAZrS  PUNISHMENT. 

BIBLE,  (2   KINGS,    CHAP.    V.) 

1.  Now  Naaman,  captain  of  the  host  of  the  king  of  Syria, 
was  a  great  man  with  his  master,  and  honorable,  because  by 
him  the  Lord  had  given  deliverance  unto  Syria :  he  was,  also, 
a  mighty  man  in  valor,  but  he  was  a  leper. 

2.  And  the  Syrians  had  gone  out  by  companies,  and  had 
brought  away  captive  out  of  the  land  of  Israel  a  little  maid ; 
and  she  waited  on  Naaman's  wife.  And  she  said  unto  her 
mistress :  Would  God  my  lord  were  with  the  prophet  that  is 
in  Samaria !  for  he  would  recover  him  of  his  leprosy.  And 
one  went  in,  and  told  his  lord,  saying :  Thus  and  thus  said  the 
maid  that  is  of  the  land  of  Israel. 

3.  And  the  king  of  Syria  said :  Go  to,  go,  and  I  will  send  a 
letter  unto  the  king  of  Israel.  And  he  departed,  and  took 
with  him  ten  talents  of  silver,  and  six  thousand  pieces  of  gold, 
and  ten  changes  of  raiment.  And  he  brought  the  letter  to 
the  king  of  Israel,  saying :  Now  when  this  letter  is  come  unto 
thee,  behold  I  have  therewith  sent  Naaman,  my  servant  to 
thee,  that  thou  may  est  recover  him  of  his  lejjrosy. 

4.  And  it  came  to  pass,  when  the  king  of  Israel  had  read 
the  letter,  that  he  rent  his  clothes,  and  said  :  Am  I  God,  to  kill, 
and  to  make  alive,  that  this  man  doth  send  unto  me  to  recover 
a  man  of  his  leprosy  ?  Wherefore  consider,  I  pray  you,  and 
see  how  he  seeketh  a  quarrel  against  me. 

5.  And  it  was  so,  when  Elisha  the  man  of  God  had  heard, 
that  the  king  of  Israel  had  rent  his  clothes,  that  he  sent  to  the 
king,  saying :  Wherefore  hast  thou  rent  thy  clothes  ?  let  him  come 
now  to  me,  and  he  shall  know  that  there  is  a  prophet  in  Israel. 

6.  So  Naaman  came  with  his  horses  and  with  his  chariot, 
and  stood  at  the  door  of  the  house  of  Elisha.  And  Elisha 
sent  a  messenger  unto  him,  saying  :  Go  and  wash  in  Jordan 
seven  times,  and  thy  flesh  shall  come  again  to  thee,  and  thou 
shaJt  be  clean. 


YOUNG    LADIES'  EEADER. 


7.  But  Naaman  was  wroth,  and  went  away,  and  said  :  Be- 
hold, I  thought,  he  will  surely  come  out  to  me,  and  stand, 
and  call  on  the  name  of  the  Lord  his  God,  and  strike  his 
hand  over  the  place,  and  recover  the  leper.  Are  not  Abana 
ind  Pharpar,  rivers  of  Damascus,  better  than  all  the  waters 
of  Israel  ?  may  I  not  wash  in  them,  and  be  clean  1  So  he 
turned  and  went  away  in  a  rage. 

8.  And  his  servants  came  near  and  spake  unto  him,  and 
said  :  My  father,  if  the  prophet  had  bid  thee  do  some  great 
thing,  wouldst  thou  not  have  done  if?  how  much  rather  then, 
when  he  saith  to  thee,  Wash  and  be  clean  1  Then  went  he 
down,  and  dipped  himself  seven  times  in  Jordan,  according  to 
the  saying  of  the  man  of  God  ;  and  his  flesh  came  again  like 
unto  the  flesh  of  a  little  child,  and  he  was  clean. 

9.  And  he  returned  to  the  man  of  God,  he  and  all  his 
company,  and  came  and  stood  before  him  ;  and  he  said  :  Be- 
hold, now  I  know  that  there  is  no  God  in  all  the  earth,  but  in 
Israel ;  now,  therefore,  I  pray  thee  take  a  blessing  of  thy  ser- 
vant. But  he  said :  As  the  Lord  liveth,  before  whom  I  stand, 
I  will  receive  none.  And  he  urged  him  to  take  it ;  but  he 
refused. 

10.  And  Naaman  said :  Shall  there  not  then,  I  pray  thee,  be 
given  to  thy  servant  two  mules'  burden  of  earth  1  for  thy  ser- 
vant will  henceforth  offer  neither  burnt  offering  nor  sacrifice 
unto  other  gods,  but  unto  the  Lord.  In  this  thing  the  Lord 
pardon  thy  servant,  that,  when  my  master  goeth  into  the  house 
of  Rimmon  to  worship  there,  and  he  leaneth  on  my  hand,  and 
I  bow  myself  in  the  house  of  Rimmon  ;  when  I  bow  down 
myself  in  the  house  of  Rimmon,  the  Lord  pardon  thy  servant 
in  this  thing.  And  he  said  unto  him  :  Go  in  peace.  So  he 
departed  from  him  a  little  way. 

11.  But  Gehazi,  the  servant  of  Elisha,  the  man  of  God, 
said :  Behold,  my  master  hath  spared  Naaman,  this  Syrian,  in 
not  receiving  at  his  hands  that  which  he  brought :  but  as  the 
Lord  liveth,  I  will  run  after  him,  and  take  somewhat  of  him. 
So  Gehazi  followed  after  Naaman. 


S80  3ANDEES'    NEW    SEEIES. 


12.  And,  when  Naaman  saw  him  runnmg  after  him,  he 
lighted  down  from  his  chariot  to  meet  him,  and  said  :  Is  all 
well  ?  And  he  said  :  All  is  well.  My  master  hath  sent  me, 
saying :  Behold,  even  now,  there  be  come  to  me  from  Mount 
Ephraim,  two  young  men  of  the  sons  of  the  prophets ;  give 
them,  I  pray  thee,  a  talent  of  silver,  and  two  changes  of 
garments. 

13.  And  Naaman  said :  Be  content,  take  two  talents.  And 
he  urged  him,  and  bound  two  talents  of  silver  in  two 
bags,  with  two  changes  of  garments,  and  laid  them  upon 
two  of  his  servants  ;  and  they  bare  them  before  him.  And, 
when  he  came  to  the  tower,  he  took  them  from  their  hand,  and 
bestowed  them  in  the  house  :  and  he  let  the  men  go,  and  they 
departed.     But  he  went  in,  and  stood  before  his  master. 

14.  And  Elisha  said  unto  him  :  Whence  comest  thou,  Ge- 
hazi  1  And  he  said  :  Thy  servant  went  no  whither.  And  he 
said  unto  him  :  Went  not  my  heart  with  thee,  when  the  man 
turned  again  from  his  chariot  to  meet  thee  1  Is  it  a  time  to 
receive  money,  and  to  receive  garments,  and  olive-yards  and 
vineyards,  and  sheep  and  oxen,  and  men-servants  and  maid- 
servants ?  The  leprosy,  therefore,  of  Naaman  shall  cleave 
unto  thee,  and  unto  thy  seed  forever.  And  he  went  out  from 
his  presence  a  leper,  as  white  as  snow. 


EXERCISE   CXIII. 

THANATOPSIS.* 


WHIIAH  0.   BRTAJn. 

1.      To  him  who  in  the  love  of  Nature  holds 
Communion  with  her  visible  forms,  she  speaks 
A  various  language  ;  for  his  gayer  hours 
She  has  a  voice  of  gladness,  and  a  smile 
And  eloquence  of  beauty  ;  and  she  glides 

*  Than  at  op'  sis  (from  thanat,  death,  and  opsis,  o  view),  or  a  vi«Tr 
of  death. 


H       Into 


YOUNG     LADIES'  READER.  831 


Into  his  darker  musings,  with  a  mild 
And  healing  sympathy,  that  steals  away 
Their  sharpness,  ere  he  is  aware. 

2.  When  thoughts 

Of  the  last  bitter  hour  come,  like  a  blight, 
Over  thy  spirit,  and  sad  images 
Of  the  stern  agony,  and  shroud,  and  pall, 
And  breathless  darkness,  and  the  narrow  house, 
Make  thee  to  shudder,  and  grow  sick  at  heart  ;— 
Go  forth,  under  the  open  sky,  and  list 
To  Nature's  teachings,  while  from  all  around — 
Earth  and  her  waters,  and  the  depths  of  air — 
Comes  a  still  voice — Yet  a  few  days,  and  thee 
The  all-beholding  sun  shall  see  no  more 
In  all  his  course ;  nor  yet  in  the  cold  ground, 
Where  thy  pale  form  was  laid  with  many  tears, 
Nor  in  the  embrace  of  ocean,  shall  exist 
Thy  image. 

8.  Earth,  that  nourished  thee,  shall  claim 

Thy  growth,  to  be  resolved  to  earth  again. 
And,  lost  each  human  trace,  surrendering  up 
Thine  individual  being,  shalt  thou  go 
To  mix  forever  with  the  elements, — 
To  be  a  brother  to  the  insensible  rock. 
And  to  the  sluggish  clod,  which  the  rude  swain 
Turns  with  his  share,  and  treads  upon.     The  oak 
Shall  send  his  roots  abroad,  and  pierce  thy  mold. 

4.     Yet  not  to  thine  eternal  resting-place 

Shalt  thou  retire  alone — nor  couldst  thou  wish 
Couch  more  magnificent.     Thou  shalt  lie  down 
With  patriarchs  of  the  infant  world — with  kings, 
The  powerful  of  the  earth — the  wise,  the  good, 
Fair  forms,  and  hoary  seers,  of  ages  past, 


882  SANDERS'     NEW     SERIES. 

All  in  one  mighty  sepulcher.     The  hills, 

Rock-ribbed,  and  ancient  as  the  sun, — the  vales 

Stretching  in  pensive  quietness  between  ; 

The  venerable  woods — rivers  that  move 

In  majesty,  and  the  complaining  brooks 

That  make  the  meadows  green ;  and,  poured  round  all, 

Old  ocean's  gray  and  melancholy  waste, — 

Are  but  the  solemn  decorations  all 

Of  the  great  tomb  of  man. 

5.  The  golden  sun, 
The  planets,  all  the  infinite  host  of  heaven, 
Are  shining  on  the  sad  abodes  of  death, 
Through  the  still  lapse  of  ages.     All  that  tread 
The  globe  are  but  a  handful  to  the  tribes 
That  slumber  in  its  bosom.     Take  the  wings 
Of  morning,  and  the  Barcan  desert  pierce. 

Or  lose  thyself  in  the  continuous  woods 
Where  rolls  the  Oregon,  and  hears  no  sound 
Save  his  own  dashings — yet  the  dead  are  there ; 
And  millions  in  those  solitudes,  since  first 
The  flight  of  years  began,  have  laid  them  down 
In  their  last  sleep— the  dead  there  reign  alone. 

6.  So  shalt  thou  rest, — and  what,  if  thou  withdraw 
Unheeded  by  the  living — and  no  friend 

Take  note  of  thy  departure  ?     All  that  breathe 
Will  share  thy  destiny.     The  gay  will  laugh 
When  thou  art  gone,  the  solemn  brood  of  care 
Plod  on,  and  each  one,  as  before,  will  chase 
His  favorite  phantom  ;  yet  all  these  shall  leave 
Their  mirth  and  their  employments,  and  shall  come, 
And  make  their  bed  with  thee.     As  the  long  train 
Of  ages  glide  away,  the  sons  of  men. 
The  youth  in  life's  green  spruig,  and  he  who  goes     - 
In  the  full  strength  of  years,  matron,  and  maid, 


YOUNG     LADIES'     READER.  333 


And  the  sweet  babe,  and  the  gray-headed  man, — 
Shall,  one  by  one,  be  gathered  to  thy  side. 
By  those  who,  in  their  turn,  shall  follow  them. 

7.  So  live,  that,  when  thy  summons  comes  to  join 
The  innumerable  caravan,  that  moves 
To  that  mysterious  realm,  where  each  shall  take 
His  chamber  in  the  silent  halls  of  death, 
Thou  go  not,  like  the  quarry-slave,  at  night, 
Scourged  to  his  dungeon,  but,  sustained  and  soothed 
By  an  unfaltering  trust,  approach  thy  grave, 
Like  one  that  wraps  the  drapery  of  his  couch 
About  him,  and  lies  down  to  pleasant  dreams. 


EXERCISE    CXIV. 
HYMN   OF   THE   SEASONS. 

THOMSOX. 

1.  These,  as  they  change,  Almighty  Father,  these 
Are  but  the  varied  God.     The  rolling  year 

Is  full  of  thee.     Forth  in  the  pleasing  Spring 
Thy  beauty  walks,  thy  tenderness  and  love. 
Wide  flush  the  fields ;  the  softening  air  is  balm  : 
Echo  the  mountains  round  ;  the  forest  smiles ; 
And  every  sense  and  every  heart  is  joy. 

2.  Then  comes  thy  glory  in  the  Summer  months, 
With  light  and  heat  refulgent.     Then  thy  sun 
Shoots  full  perfection  through  the  swelling  year ; 
And  oft  thy  voice  in  dreadful  thunder  speaks, — 
And  oft  at  dawn,  deep  noon,  or  falling  eve. 

By  brooks  and  groves  in  hollow-whispering  galea. 

3.  Thy  bounty  shines  in  Autumn  unconfined, 
And  spreads  a  common  feast  for  all  that  lives. 
In  Winter  awful  thou !  with  clouds  and  storms 
Around  thee  thrown,  tempest  o'er  tempest  rolled, 


8S4  SANDERS'    NEW    SERIES. 

Majestic  darkness !     On  the  whirlwind's  wing 
Riding  sublime,  thou  bid'st  the  world  adore, 
And  humblest  Nature  with  thy  northern  blast. 

4.  Mysterious  round  !  what  skill,  what  force  divine, 
Deep-felt,  in  these  appear  !  a  simple  train, 

Yet  so  delightful  mix'd,  with  such  kind  art. 
Such  beauty  and  beneficence  combined  ; 
Shade,  unperceived,  so  softening  into  shade ; 
And  all  so  forming  an  harmonious  whole. 
That,  as  they  still  succeed,  they  ravish  still. 

5.  But  wandering  oft,  with  rude  unconscious  gaze, 
Man  marks  not  thee,  marks  not  the  mighty  hand 
That,  ever  busy,  wheels  the  silent  spheres  ; 
Works  in  the  secret  deep;  shoots  steaming  thence 
The  fair  profusion  that  overspreads  the  spring ; 
Flings  from  the  sun  direct  the  flaming  day ; 
Feeds  every  creature ;  hurls  the  tempest  forth. 
And,  as  on  earth  this  grateful  change  revolves, 
With  transport  touches  all  the  springs  of  life. 

6.  Nature  attend  !  join,  every  living  soul 
Beneath  the  spacious  temple  of  the  sky, 
In  adoration  join  ;  and  ardent,  raise 

One  general  song !     To  Him,  ye  vocal  gales. 

Breathe  soft,  whose  spirit  in  your  freshness  breathes: 

O,  talk  of  Him  in  solitary  glooms  ! 

Where  o'er  the  rock  the  scarcely  waving  pine 

Fills  the  brown  shade  with  a  religious  awe. 

And  ye,  whose  bolder  note  is  heard  afar. 

Who  shake  th'  astonished  world,  lift  high  to  heaven 

Th'  impetuous  song,  and  say  from  whom  you  rage. 

7.  His  praise,  ye  brooks  attune,  ye  trembling  rills  ; 
And  let  me  catch  it  as  I  muse  along. 


YOUKG     LADIES'     READER.  335 

Ye  headlong  torrents,  rapid  and  profound ; 

Ye  softer  floods,  that  lead  the  humid  maze 

Along  the  vale ;  and  thou,  majestic  main, 

A  secret  world  of  wonders  in  thyself, 

Sound  His  stupendous  praise, — whose  greater  voice 

Or  bids  you  roar,  or  bids  your  roaring  fall. 

Soft  roll  your  incense,  herbs,  and  fruits,  and  flowers, 

In  mingled  clouds  to  Him,  whose  sun  exalts. 

Whose  breath  perfumes  you,  and  whose  pencil  paints. 

8.  Ye  forests,  bend ;  ye  harvests,  wave  to  Him  ; 
Breathe  your  still  song  into  the  reaper's  heart, 
As  home  he  goes  beneath  the  joyous  moon. 
Ye  that  keep  watch  in  heaven,  as  earth  asleep 
Unconscious  lies,  effuse  your*  mildest  beams, 
Ye  constellations,  while  your  angels  strike, 
Amid  the  spangled  sky,  the  silver  lyre. 
Great  Source  of  day  !  best  image  here  below 
Of  thy  Creator,  ever  pouring  wide. 

From  world  to  world,  the  vital  ocean  round. 
On  Nature  write  with  every  beam  His  praise. 

9.  The  thunder  rolls ;  (p.)  be  hushed  the  prostrate  world ; 
While  cloud  to  cloud  returns  the  solemn  hymn. 

Bleat  out  afresh,  ye  hills  ;  ye  mossy  rocks 
Retain  the  sound ;  the  broad  responsive  low. 
Ye  valleys,  raise  ;  for  the  Great  Shepherd  reigns, 
And  His  unsuffering  kingdom  yet  will  come. 
Ye  woodlands,  all  awake ;  a  boundless  song 
Burst  from  the  groves  ;  and,  when  the  restless  day. 
Expiring,  lays  the  warbling  world  asle^^p. 
Sweetest  of  birds  !  sweet  Philomela,  charm 
The  listening  shades,  and  teach  the  night  His  praise. 

10.  Ye  chief,  for  whom  the  whole  creation  smiles ; 
.^At  once  the  head,  the  heart,  and  tongue  ol*  all, 


836  SANDEES*    NEW    SERIES. 

Crown  the  great  hymn  !  in  swarming  cities  vast, 

Assembled  men  to  the  deep  organ  join 

The  long  resounding  voice,  oft  breaking  clear, 

At  solemn  pauses,  through  the  swelling  bass ; 

And,  as  each  mingling  flame  increases  each, 

In  one  united  ardor  rise  to  heaven. 

Or,  if  you  rather  choose  the  rural  shade. 

And  find  a  fane  in  every  sacred  grove. 

There  let  the  shepherd's  flute,  the  virgin's  lay, 

The  prompting  seraph,  and  the  poet's  lyre, 

Still  sing  the  God  of  Seasons  as  they  roll. 

11.  For  me,  when  I  forget  the  darling  theme, 
Whether  the  blossom  blows,  the  Summer  ray 
Russets  the  plain,  inspiring  Autumn  gleams. 
Or  Winter  rises  in  the  blackening  east — 

Be  my  tongue  mute,  my  fancy  paint  no  more, 
And,  dead  to  joy,  forget  my  heart  to  beat. 

12.  Should  fate  command  me  to  the  farthest  verge 
Of  the  green  earth,  to  distant  barbarous  climes, 
Rivers  unknown  to  song, — where  first  the  sun 
Gilds  Indian  mountains,  or  his  setting  beam 
Flames  on  the  Atlantic  isles,  't  is  naught  to  me ; 
Since  God  is  ever  present,  ever  felt. 

In  the  void  waste  as  in  the  city  full ; 

And  where  He  vital  breathes,  there  must  be  joy. 

13.  When  e'en  at  last  the  solemn  hour  shall  come, 
And  wing  my  mystic  flight  to  future  worlds, 

I  cheerful  will  obey ;  there,  with  new  powers, 
Will  rising  wonders  sing.     I  can  not  go 
Where  Universal  Love  not  smiles  around, 
Sustaining  all  yon  orbs,  and  all  their  suns ; 
From  seeming  evil  still  educing  good. 
And  better  thence  again  and  better  still, 


YOUNG     LADIES'    EEADER.  337 

In  infinite  progression.  But  I  lose 
Myself  in  Him,  in  Light  ineffable  ! 
Come,  then,  expressive  silence,  muse  his  praise. 


EXERCISE    CXV. 
A   REMARKABLE   INCIDENT. 


DE   QUINCET. 

1.  During  a  residence  upon  Ulleswater  (winter  of  1800,) 
it  was,  that  a  very  remarkable  incident  befell  Miss  Smith.  I 
have  heard  it  often  mentioned,  and  sometimes  with  a  slight 
variety  of  circumstances  ;  but  I  here  repeat  it  from  an  ac- 
count drawn  up  by  Miss  Smith  herself,  who  was  most  liter- 
ally exact  and  faithful  to  the  truth  in  all  reports  of  her  own 
personal  experience. 

2.  There  is,  on  the  western  side  of  Ulleswater,  a  fine  catii- 
ract,  (or,  in  the  language  of  the  country,  a  force.)  known  by 
the  name  of  Airey  Force,  and  it  is  of  importance  enough, 
especially  in  rainy  seasons,  to  attract  numerous  visitors  from 
among  "  the  Lakers."  Thither,  with  some  purpose  of  sketch- 
ing, not  the  whole  scene,  but  some  picturesque  features  of  it, 
Mi  3  Smith  had  gone,  quite  unaccompanied. 

.  The  road  to  it  lies  through  Gobarrow  Park,  and  it  was 
us  al,  at  that  time,  to  take  a  guide  from  the  family  of  the 
Duke  of  Norfolk's  keeper,  who  lived  in  Lyulph's  Tower, — a 
solitary  hunting  lodge,  built  by  his  Grace  for  the  purposes  of 
an  annual  visit  which  he  used  to  pay  his  estates  in  that  part  of 
England.  She,  however,  thinking  herself  sufficiently  familiar 
with  the  localities,  had  declined  to  encumber  her  motions  with 
such  an  attendant ;  consequently  she  was  alone. 

4.  For  half  an  hour,  or  more,  she  contmued  to  ascend ; 
and,  being  a  good  "  cragswoman,"  from  the  experience  she  had 
won  in  Wales,  as  well  as  in  northern  England,  she  had 
reached  an  altitude  much  beyond  what  would  generally  be 
thought  corresponding  to  the  time.     The  path  had  vanishea 

15 


838  SANDERS'     NEW     SERIES. 

altogether,  but  she  continued  to  pick  out  one  for  herself 
among  the  stones,  sometimes  receding  from  the  force^  some- 
times approaching  it,  according  to  the  openings  allowed  by 
the  scattered  masses  of  rock. 

5.  Pressing  forward  in  this  hurried  way,  and  never  looking 
back,  all  at  once  she  found  herself  in  a  little  stony  chamber, 
from  which  there  was  no  egress  possible  in  advance.  She 
stopped  and  looked  up.  There  was  a  frightful  silence  in  the 
air.  She  felt  a  sudden  palpitation  at  her  heart,  and  a  pani  i 
from  she  knew  not  what.  Turning,  however,  hastily,  she 
soon  wound  herself  out  of  this  aerial  dungeon  ;  but  by  steps 
so  rapid  and  agitated,  that  at  length,  on  looking  round,  she 
found  herself  standing  at  the  brink  of  a  chasm,  frightful  to 
look  down. 

6.  That  way,  it  was  clear  enough,  all  retreat  was  impos- 
sible ;  but,  on  turning  round,  retreat  seemed,  in  every  di- 
rection alike,  even  more  impossible.  Down  the  chasm,  at 
least,  she  might  have  leaped,  though  with  little  or  no  chance 
of  escaping  with  life  ;  but,  on  all  other  quarters,  it  seemed  to 
her  eye,  that,  at  no  price,  could  she  effect  an  exit,  since  the 
rocks  stood  round  her  in  a  semicircus,  all  lofty,  all  perpen- 
dicular, all  glazed  with  trickling  water,  or  smooth  as  polished 
porphyry. 

7.  Yet  how,  then,  had  she  reached  the  point  ?  The  same 
track,  if  she  could  hit  that  track,  would  surely  secure  her  es- 
cape. Round  and  round  she  walked ;  gazed  with  almost  de- 
spairing eyes ;  her  breath  came  thicker  and  thicker ;  for  path 
she  could  not  trace  by  which  it  was  possible  for  her  to  have 
entered.  Finding  herself  grow  more  and  more  confused,  and 
every  instant  nearer  to  sinking  into  some  fainting  fit  or  con- 
vulsion, she  resolved  to  sit  down,  and  turn  her  thoughts  quietly 
into  some  less  exciting  channel. 

8.  This  she  did ;  gradually  recovered  some  self-possession , 
and  then  suddenly  a  thought  rose  up  to  her,  that  she  was  in 
the  hands  of  God,  and  that  he  would  not  forsake  her.  But 
immediately  eame  a  second  and  reproving  thought  that  thi» 


YOUNG     LADIES'    READER.  339 

confidence  in  God's  protection  might  have  been  justified,  had 
she  been  ascending  the  rocks  upon  any  mission  of  duty ;  but 
what  right  could  she  have  to  any  providential  deliverance, 
who  had  been  led  thither  in  a  spirit  of  levity  and  carelessness  1 
I  am  here  giving  her  view  of  the  case ;  for,  as  to  myself,  I 
fear  greatly,  that,  if  her  steps  were  eriang  ones,  it  is  but  seldom 
indeed,  that  the  rest  of  us  can  pretend  to  be  treading  upon 
right  paths. 

9.  Once  again  she  rose,  and,  supporting  herself  upon  a  little 
sketching-stool  that  folded  up  into  a  stick,  she  looked  upward, 
in  the  hope  that  some  shepherd  might,  by  chance,  be  wander- 
ing in  those  aerial  regions ;  but  nothing  could  she  see,  except 
the  tall  birches  growing  at  the  brink  of  the  highest  summits, 
and  the  clouds  slowly  sailing  overhead.  Suddenly,  however, 
as  she  swept  the  whole  circuit  of  her  station  with  her  alarmed 
eye,  she  saw  clearly,  about  two  hundred  yards  beyond  her 
own  position,  a  lady,  in  a  white  muslin  morning  robe,  such 
as  were  then  universally  worn  by  young  ladies  until  dinner- 
time. 

10.  The  lady  beckoned  with  a  gesture  and  in  a  manner 
that,  in  a  moment,  gave  her  confidence  to  advance, — how,  she 
could  not  guess,  but,  in  some  way  that  baffled  all  power  to  re- 
trace it,  she  found  instantaneously  the  outlet  which  previously 
had  escaped  her.  She  continued  to  advance  toward  the  lady, 
whom  now,  in  the  same  moment,  she  found  to  be  standing 
upon  the  other  side  of  the  force,  and,  also,  to  be  her  own 
sister. 

11.  How,  or  why  that  young  lady,  whom  she  had  left  at 
home,  earnestly  occupied  with  her  own  studies,  should  have 
followed  and  overtaken  her,  filled  her  with  perplexity.  But 
this  was  no  situation  for  putting  questions ;  for  the  guiding 
sister  began  to  descend,  and,  by  a  few  simple  gestures,  just 
serving  to  indicate  when  Miss  Elizabeth  was  to  approach,  and 
when  to  leave  the  brink  of  the  torrent,  she  gradually  led  her 
down  to  a  platform  of  rock,  from  which  the  further  descent 
was  safe  and  conspicuous. 


840  SANDERS'     NEW     SERIES. 

12.  There  Miss  Smith  paused,  in  order  to  take  breath 
from  her  panic,  as  well  as  to  exchange  greetings  and  questions 
with  her  sister.  But  sister  there  was  none.  All  trace  of  her 
had  vanished  ;  and  when,  in  two  hours  after,  she  reached  her 
home.  Miss  Smith  found  her  sister  in  the  same  situation  and 
employment,  in  which  sh&  had  left  her ;  and  the  whole  family 
assured  her,  that  she  had  never  stirred  from  the  house. 


EXERCISE    CXVI 
THE   TALKING   LADY. 


MISS   MTTFOBD. 

1.  The  manner  of  her  speech  has  little  remarkable.  It  is 
rather  old-fashioned  and  provincial,  but  perfectly  lady-like, 
low  and  gentle,  and  not  seeming  so  fast  as  it  is ;  like  the 
great  pedestrians,  she  clears  her  ground  easily,  and  never 
seems  to  use  any  exertion  ;  yet,  "  I  would  my  horse  had  the 
speed  of  her  tongue,  and  so  good  a  continuer."  She  will  talk 
you  sixteen  hours  a  day,  for  twenty  days  together,  and  not  de- 
duct one  poor  five  minutes  for  halts  and  baiting  time.  Talk- 
ing, sheer  talking,  is  meat,  and  drink,  and  sleep  to  her.  She 
likes  nothing  else.     Eating  is  a  sad  interruption. 

2.  For  the  tea-table  she  has  some  toleration ;  but  dinner, 
with  its  clatter  of  plates  and  jingle  of  knives  and  forks,  din- 
ner is  her  abhorrence.  Nor  are  the  other  common  pursuits 
of  life  more  in  her  favor.  Walking  exhausts  the  breath  that 
might  be  better  employed.  Dancing  is  a  noisy  diversion, 
and  singing  is  worse  ;  she  can  not  endure  any  music,  except 
the  long,  grand,  dull  concerto,  which  nobody  thinks  of  listen- 
ing to.  Reading  and  chess  she  classes  together,  as  silent  bar- 
barisms, unworthy  of  a  social  and  civilized  people. 

3.  Cards,  too,  have  their  faults  ;  there  is  a  rivalry,  a  mute 
eloquence,  in  those  four  aces,  that  leads  away  the  attention ; 
besides,  partners  will  sometimes  scold ;  so  she  never  plays 
at  cards ;  and,  upon  the  strength  of  this  abstinence,  had  very 


YOUNG    LADIES'  KEADER.  841 

nearly  passed  for  serious,  till  it  was  discovered,  that  she  could 
not  abide  a  long  sermon.  She  always  looks  out  for  the  short- 
est preacher,  and  never  went  to  above  one  Bible-meeting  in 
her  life.  "  Such  speeches  !"  quoth  she  ;  "  I  thought  the  men 
never  meant  to  have  done.  People  have  great  need  of  pa- 
tience." 

4.  Plays,  of  course,  she  abhors;  and  operas,  and  mobs,  and 
all  things  that  will  be  heard,  especially  children  ;  though,  for 
babies,  particularly  when  asleep,  for  dogs,  and  pictures,  and 
such  silent  intelligences  as  serve  to  talk  of  and  talk  to,  she 
has  a  considerable  partiality ;  and  an  agreeable  and  gracious 
flattery  to  the  mammas,  and  other  owners  of  these  pretty 
dumb  things,  is  a  very  usual  introduction  to  her  miscellane- 
ous harangues.  The  matter  of  these  orations  is  inconceiv- 
ably various.  Perhaps  the  local  and  genealogical  anecdotes, 
the  sort  of  supplement  to  the  history  of  *****shire,  may  be 
her  strongest  point ;  but  she  shines  almost  as  much  in  medi- 
cine and  housewifery.  Her  medical  dissertations  savor  a 
little  of  that  particular  branch  of  the  science  called  quack- 
ery. 

5.  She  has  a  specific  against  almost  every  disease,  to  which 
the  human  frame  is  liable ;  and  is  terribly  prosy  and  unmer- 
ciful in  her  symptoms.  Her  cures  kill.  In  house-keeping, 
her  notions  resemble  those  of  other  verbal  managers  ;  full  of 
economy  and  retrenchment,  with  a  leaning  toward  reform, 
though  she  loves  so  well  to  declaim  on  the  abuses  in  the 
cook's  department,  that  I  am  not  sure,  that  she  would  very 
heartily  thank  any  radical  who  should  sweep  them  quite 
away.  For  the  rest,  her  system  sounds  very  finely  in  theory, 
but  rather  fails  in  practice. 

6.  Her  recipes  would  be  capital,  only  that,  some  way  or 
other,  they  do  not  eat  well ;  her  preserves  seldom  keep  ;  and 
her  sweet  wines  are  sure  to  turn  sour.  These  are  certain- 
ly her  favorite  topics ;  but  any  one  will  do.  Allude  to 
some  anecdote  of  the  neighborhood,  and  she  forthwith  treats 
you  with  as  many  parallel  passages  as  are  to  be  found  in  an 


842  SANDBARS'     NEW     SERIES. 

air  witli  Tariations.  Take  up  a  new  publication,  and  she  is 
equally  at  home  there  ;  for,  though  she  knows  little  of  books, 
she  has,  in  the  course  of  an  up-and-down  life,  met  with  a  good 
many  authors,  and  teases  and  provokes  you  by  telling  of  them 
precisely  "what  you  do  not  care  to  hear,  the  maiden  names  of 
their  wives,  and  the  Christian  names  of  their  daughters,  and 
into  what  families  their  sisters  and  cousins  married,  and  in 
what  towns  they  haye  lived,  what  streets,  and  "what  numbers. 
Boswell  himself  never  drew  up  the  table  o^  -Dr.  Johnson's 
Fleet-street  courts  with  greater  care,  than  she  made  out  to 
me  the  successive  residences  of  P.  P.  Esq.,  author  of  a  tract 
on  the  French  Revolution,  and  a  pamphlet  on  the  Poor  Laws. 
7.  The  very  weather  is  not  a  safe  subject.  Her  memory 
"is  a  perpetual  register  of  hard  frosts,  and  long  drouths,  and 
high  ivinds,  and  terrible  storms,  with  all  the  evils  that  follow- 
ed in  their  train,  and  all  the  personal  events  connected  with 
them,  ^b  that,  if  you  happen  to  remark  that  clouds  are  come 
up,  and  you  fear  it  may  rain,  she  replies :  "  Aye,  it  is  just  such 
a  morning  as  three-and-thirty  years  ago,  when  my  poor  cousin 
was  married,  —  you  remember  my  cousin  Barbara ;  she 
married  so  and  so,  the  son  of  so  and  so;"  and  then  comes 
the  whole  pedigree  of  the  bridegroom ;  the  amount  of  the 
settlements,  and  the  reading  and  signing  them  over  night;  a 
description  of  the  wedding-dresses,  in  the  style  of  Sir  Charles 
Grandison,  and  how  much  the  bride's  gown  cost  per  yard ; 
iihe  names,  residences,  and  a  short  subsequent  history  of  the 
bridemaids  and  men,  the  gentleman  who  gave  the  bride 
away,  and  the  clergyman  who  performed  the  ceremony,  with 
•a  learned  antiquarian  digression  relative  to  the  church;  then 
the  setting  out  in  procession ;  the  marriage ;  the  kissing ;  the 
crying  ;  the  breakfasting  ;  the  drawing  the  cake  through  the 
ring ;  and,  finally,  the  bridal  excursion,  which  brings  us  back 
again,  at  an  hour's  end,  to  the  starting-post,  the  weather,  and 
the  whole  story  of  the  sopping,  the  drying,  the  clothes-spoil- 
ing, the  cold-ca.*ching,  and  all  the  small  evils  of  a  summer 
shower. 


YOUNG    LADIES'  BEADEE.  843 

8.  By  this  time  it  rains,  and  she  sits  down  to  a  pathetic 
see-saw  of  conjectures  on  the  chance  of  Mrs.  Smith's  having 
set  out  for  her  daily  walk,  or  the  possibility,  that  Dr.  Brown 
may  have  ventured  to  visit  his  patients  in  his  gig,  and  the 
certainty  that  Lady  Green's  new  housemaid  would  come  from 
London  on  the  outside  of  the  coach. 

9.  With  all  this  intolerable  prosing,  she  is  actually  reck- 
oned a  pleasant  woman  !  Her  acquaintance  in  the  great  man- 
ufacturing town  where  she  usually  resides,  is  very  large, 
which  may  partly  account  for  the  misnomer.  Her  conversa- 
tion is  of  a  sort  to  bear  dividing.  Besides,  there  is,  in  all 
large  societies,  an  instinctive  sympathy  which  directs  each  in- 
dividual to  the  companion  most  congenial  to  his  humor. 
Doubtless,  her  associates  deserve  the  old  French  compliment, 
"/&  ont  tous  un  grand  talent  "pour  le  silence.^''*  Parceled  out 
among  some  seventy  or  eighty,  there  may  even  be  some  savor 
in  her  talk. 

10.  She  has  the  eye  of  a  hawk,  and  detects  a  wandering 
glance,  an  incipient  yawn,  the  slightest  movement  of  impa- 
tience. The  very  needle  must  be  quiet.  If  a  pair  of  scissors 
do  but  wag,  she  is  affronted,  draws  herself  up,  breaks  off  in 
the  middle  of  a  story,  of  a  sentence,  of  a  word,  and  the  un- 
lucky culprit  must,  for  civility's  sake,  summon  a  more  than 
Spartan  fortitude,  and  beg  the  torturer  to  resume  her  tor- 
ments— "That,  that  is  the  unkindest  cut  of  all !" 

IL  I  wonder,  if  she  had  happened  to  have  married,  how 
many  husbands  she  would  have  talked  to  death.  It  is  certain, 
that  none  of  her  relations  are  long-lived  after  she  comes  to  re' 
side  with  them.  Father,  mother,  uncle,  sister,  brother,  two 
nephews,  and  one  niece, — all  these  have  successively  passed 
away,  though  a  healthy  race,  and  with  no  visible  disorder, — 
except — but  we  must  not  be  uncharitable.  They  might  have 
died,  though  she  had  been  born  dumb  : — "  It  is  an  accident 
that  happens  every  day."  Since  the  decease  of  her  last 
nephew,  she  attempted  to  form  an  establishment  with  a  widow 
*  They  all  have  a  great  talent  for  silence. 


844  SANDERS'    NEW    SERIES. 

lady,  for  the  sake,  as  they  both  said,  of  the  comfort  of  society. 
But — strange  miscalculation  !  she  was  a  talker,  too  !  They 
parted  in  a  week. 


EXERCISE    CXVII 
THE   UNBIDDEN   GUEST. 


LUELLA   3.    CASK 

1.  I  come  !     Ye  have  lighted  your  festal  hall, 
And  music  is  sounding  its  joyous  call, 

And  the  guests  are  gathering — ^the  young,  the  fair, 
With  the  flower-wreathed  brow,  and  the  braided  hair. 
I  come,  but  so  noiseless  shall  be  my  way 
Through  the  smiling  crowds  of  the  young  and  gay, 
Not  a  thought  shall  ^ise  in  a  careless  breast 
Of  me,  the  Unseen,  the  Unbidden  Guest ; 
Not  an  under-tone  on  the  ear  shall  swell, 
Smiting  your  hearts  like  a  funeral  knell. 

2.  I  come  !     Let  the  music's  echoing  note 
Still  through  the  air  of  your  ball-room  float; 
Let  the  starry  lamps  soft  radiance  throw 

On  the  rose-touched  cheek,  and  the  brow  of  snow, 

Not  a  freezing  pulse,  not  a  thrill  of  fear. 

Shall  tell  that  the  King  of  the  Grave  is  near ; 

Not  a  pallid  face,  not  a  rayless  eye. 

Shall  whisper  of  me  as  I  hurry  by. 

Marking  the  doomed  I  shall  summon  away 

To  their  low,  dark  cells,  in  the  house  of  clay. 

8.    We  have  met  before  !     Aye,  I  wandered  here 
In  the  festal  hours  of  the  parted  year. 
And  many  a  beautiful  form  has  bowed 
To  the  sleep  that  dwells  in  the  damp  white  shroud ! 
They  died  when  the  first  spring  blossom  was  s{ien, 
They  faded  away  when  the  groves  were  green, 


YOUNG    LADIES'  READEE.  845 

When  the  suns  of  autumn  were  faint  and  brief, 
On  the  withered  grass,  and  the  changing  leaf; 
And  here  there  is  many  a  pulse  shall  fail, 
Ere  the  suns  of  the  passing  year  grow  pale. 

4.  Then  swell  the  proud  strains  of  your  music  high, 
As  the  measured  hours  of  your  life  flit  by ; 

Let  the  foot  of  the  thoughtless  dancer  be 
As  fleet  as  it  will,  it  eludes  not  me  ! 
I  shall  come  when  life's  morning  ray  is  bright, 
I  shall  come  in  the  hush  of  its  waning  light, 
I  shall  come  when  the  ties  of  earth  cling  fast. 
When  love's  sweet  voice  is  a  voice  of  the  Past ! 
To  your  homes,  and  pray  ; — for  ye  wait  your  doom, 
The  shroud,  the  coffin,  the  lonely  tomb  ! 

5.  Ye  would  quail,  ye  tremblers,  to  see  me  here ; 
Yet  the  mission  I  hold  is  of  love,  not  fear. 

A  healing  I  bear  to  the  couch  of  pain, 
I  fling  from  the  spirit  its  cumbering  chain, 
And  weary  old  age  to  my  rest  shall  hie 
With  a  smiling  lip,  and  a  grateful  eye. 
When  life,  like  a  sorrowful  mourner,  weeps 
O'er  the  grave  where  its  early  promise  sleeps, 
Oh,  earth  has  no  balm  like  the  cup  I  bring  ! 
Why  say  ye  I  come  with  the  dart  and  sting  ? 

6.  My  voice  shall  be  sweet  in  the  maiden's  ear. 
As  the  voice  of  her  lover  whispering  near  ; 
x\nd  my  footstep  so  soft  by  the  infant's  bed, 
He  will  deem  it  his  mother's  anxious  tread, 
And  his  innocent  eyes  will  gently  close. 

As  I  kiss  from  his  bright  young  lips  the  rose. 
Oh,  the  good  and  the  pure  have  naught  to  fear, 
When  my  voice  in  the  gathering  gloom  they  hear ! 
Away  from  the  dance,  ye  revelers  gay. 
Fling  off*  the  wreath, — to  your  homes,  and  pray  ! 
15* 


%46  'SANDERS'  NEW    SERIES. 

EXEKCISE    CXVIII. 

ASPIRE ! 

M.    F.   ItTPPlBB, 

1    (<)  Higher,  higher,  ever  higher, — 

Let  the  watchword  be,  "  Aspire !" 

Noble  Christian  youth ; 
Whatsoe'er  be  God's  behest, 
Try  to  do  that  duty  best, 

In  the  strength  of  Truth. 

2.  Let  a  just  Ambition  fire 
Every  motive  and  desire 

God  and  Man  to  serve  ; 
Man,  with  zeal  and  honor  due, 
God,  with  gratitude  most  true. 

And  all  the  spirit's  nerve  ! 

3.  Let  not  Doubt  thine  efforts  tire, 
God  will  give  what  all  require, 

Raiment,  home,  and  food  ; 
And  with  these,  contented  well, 
Bid  thine  aspirations  swell 

To  the  Highest  Good ! 

4.  From  the  perils,  deep  and  dire, 
Of  Temptation's  sensual  mire, 

Keep  thy  chastened  feet ; 
Dread,  and  hate,  and  turn  away 
From  the  lure  that  leads  astray, 

Satan's  pleasure-cheat ! 

6.         And,  while  thus  a  self-denier, 

Stand  the  stal worth  self-relier,— 

Bravely  battling  on. 
Though  alone, — no  soul  alive 
Ever  stoutly  dared  to  strive, 

But  saw  the  battle  won'. 


YOUNG     LADIES'     EEADER.  847 

6.  (<)  Higher,  then,  and  always  higher, — 
Let  Man's  motto  be,  "  Aspire  !" 

Whoso'er  he  be ; 
Holy  liver  !  happy  dier  ! 
Earth's  poor  best,  and  Heaven's  choir, 
Are  reserved  for  thee  ! 

Questions. — 1.  Why  the  rising  inflection  on  h<mie,  third  stanza  t 
See  Rule  VII.,  page  31.  2.  How,  according  to  the  notation  marks, 
should  the  first  lines  of  the  first  and  sixth  stanzas  be  read?  Seo 
page  40. 


EXERCISE  CXIX. 

THE  AGED. 


MBS.    ST.   LEON    LOUD. 

1.  I  love  the  aged ; — every  silver  hair 

On  their  time-honored  brows,  speaks  to  my  heart 
In  language  of  the  past ;  each  furrow  there. 

In  all  my  best  affections,  claims  a  part ; 
Next  to  our  God,  and  Scripture's  holy  page, 
Is  deepest  rev'rence  due  to  virtuous  age. 

2.  The  aged  Christian  stands  upon  the  shore 

Of  Time,  a  storehouse  of  experience. 
Filled  with  the  treasures  of  rich,  heav'nly  lore ; 

I  love  to  sit  and  hear  him  draw  from  thence 
Sweet  recollections  «f  his  journey  past, — 
A  journey  crowned  with  blessings  to  the  last. 

3.  Lovely  the  aged !  when,  like  shocks  of  com, 

Full  ripe  and  ready  for  the  reaper's  hand, 
Which  garners  for  the  resurrection  morn 

The  bodies  of  the  just, — in  hope  they  stand. 
And  dead  must  be  the  heart,  the  bosom  cold, 
Which  warms  not  with  affection  for  the  old. 


848  SANDERS'    NEW    SERIES. 


EXERCISE  CXX. 
STUDY  FAVORABLE   TO   ORIGINALITY. 

CHAKLE3   BUTLEK. 

1.  A  romantic  girl,  with  a  pretension  to  sentiment,  which 
her  still  more  ignorant  friends  mistake  for  genius,  and  pos- 
sessing something  of  a  natural  ear,  has,  perhaps,  in  her  child- 
hood, exhausted  all  the  images  of  grief,  and  love,  and  fancy, 
picked  up  in  her  desultory  poetical  reading,  in  an  elegy  on  a 
sick  linnet,  or  a  sonnet  on  a  dead  lap-dog  ;  she  begins  thence- 
forward to  be  considered  as  a  prodigy  in  her  little  circle ;  sur- 
rounded with  fond  and  flattering  friends,  every  avenue  to  truth 
is  shut  out ;  she  has  no  opportunity  of  learning  that  her  fame 
is  derived,  not  from  her  powers,  but  her  position ;  and  that, 
when  an  impartial  critic  shall  have  made  all  the  necessary  de- 
ductions, such  as — that  she  is  a  neighbor,  that  she  is  a  rela- 
tion, that  she  is  a  female,  that  she  is  young,  that  she  has  had 
no  advantages,  that  she  is  pretty,  perhaps — when  her  verses 
come  to  be  stripped  of  all  their  extraneous  appendages,  and 
the  fair  author  is  driven  off  her  "  vantage  ground"  of  partial- 
ity, sex,  and  favor,  she  will  commonly  sink  to  the  level  of 
ordinary  capacities. 

2.  But  those  more  quiet  women,  who  have  meekly  sat 
down  in  the  humble  shades  of  prose  and  prudence,  by  a  pa- 
tient perseverance  in  rational  studies,  rise  afterward  much 
higher  in  the  scale  of  intellect,  and  acquire  a  much  larger 
stock  of  sound  knowledge,  for  far  better  purposes  than  mere 
display.  And  though  it  may  seem  a  contradiction,  yet  it  will 
generally  be  found  true,  that  girls  who  take  to  scribble,  are 
the  least  studious,  the  least  reflecting,  and  the  least  rational. 

3.  They  early  acquire  a  false  confidence  in  their  own  unas- 
sisted powers ;  it  becomes  more  gratifying  to  their  natural 
vanity  to  be  always  pouring  out  their  minds  on  paper,  tlmn 
to  be  drawing  into  them  fresh  ideas  from  richer  sources.  The 
original  stock,  small,  perhaps,  at  first,  is  soon  spent.  The 
subsequent  efforts  grow  more  and  more  feeble,  if  the  mind, 


YOUNG     LADIES'     READER.  849 

which  is  continually  exhausting  itself,  be  not,  also,  continually 
replenished ;  till  the  latter  compositions  become  little  more 
than  reproductions  of  the  same  ideas,  and  fainter  copies  of 
the  same  images,  a  little  varied  and  modified,  perhaps,  and 
not  a  little  diluted  and  enfeebled. 

4.  It  will  be  necessary  to  combat  vigilantly  that  favorite 
idea  of  lively  ignorance,  that  study  is  an  enemy  to  original- 
ity. Correct  the  judgment,  while  you  humble  the  vanity  of 
the  young  untaught  pretender,  by  convincing  her,  that  those 
half-formed  thoughts  and  undigested  ideas,  which  she  considers 
as  proofs  of  her  invention,  prove  only,  that  she  wants  taste 
and  knowledge  ;  that,  while  conversation  must  polish,  and  re- 
flection invigorate,  her  ideas,  she  must  improve  and  enlarge 
them  by  the  accession  of  various  kinds  of  virtue  and  elegant 
literature  ;  and  that  the  cultivated  mind  will  repay  with  large 
interest  the  seeds  sown  in  it  by  judicious  study.  Let  it  be 
observed,  I  am  by  no  means  encouraging  young  ladies  to  turn 
authors ;  I  am  only  reminding  them,  that 

"Authors,  before  they  write,  should  read." 

I  am  only  putting  them  in  mind,  that  to  be  ignorant  is  not  to 
be  original. 

5.  These  self-taught  and  self-dependent  scribblers  pant  for 
the  unmerited  and  unattainable  praise  of  fancy  and  of  genius, 
while  they  disdain  the  commendation  of  judgment,  knowl- 
edge, and  perseverance,  which  would  probably  be  within  their 
reach.  To  extort  admiration  they  are  accustomed  to  boast 
of  an  impossible  rapidity  in  composing ;  and,  while  they  in- 
sinuate how  little  time  their  performances  cost  them,  they 
intend  you  should  infer  how  perfect  they  might  have  made 
them,  had  they  condescended  to  the  drudgery  of  application ; 
but  application,  with  them,  implies  defect  of  genius. 

6.  They  take  superfluous  pains  to  convince  you,  that  there 
was  neither  learning  nor  labor  in  the  work  for  which  they 
solicit  your  praise.  Alas !  the  judicious  eye  too  soon  per- 
ceives it !  though  it  does  not  perceive,  that  native  strength 


850  SANDERS'   NEW    SERIES. 

and  mother-wit,  which,  in  works  of  real  genius,  make  some 
amends  for  the  negligence,  which  yet  they  do  not  justify. 

7.  But,  instead  of  extolling  these  effusions  for  their  facility, 
it  would  be  kind  in  friends  rather  to  blame  them  for  their 
crudeness ;  and,  when  the  young  candidates  for  fame  are 
eager  to  prove  in  how  short  a  time  such  a  poem  has  been 
struck  off,  it  would  be  well  to  regret,  that  they  had  not  either 
taken  a  longer  time,  or  refrained  from  writing  at  all ;  as,  in 
the  former  case,  the  work  would  have  been  less  defective, 
and,  in  the  latter,  the  writer  would  have  discovered  more  hu- 
mility and  self-distrust. 


EXERCISE    CXXI. 
GENTOS. 


B.   P.   WHIPPLE. 

1.  There  is  one  law  inwoven  into  the  constitution  of  things, 
which  declares,  that  force  of  mind  and  character  must  rule  the 
world.  This  truth  glares  out  upon  us  from  daily  life,  from 
history,  from  science,  art,  letters,  from  all  the  agencies  which 
influence  conduct  and  opinion.  The  whole  existing  order  of 
things  is  one  vast  monument  to  the  supremacy  of  mind.  The 
exterior  appearance  of  human  life  is  but  the  material  embodi- 
ment, the  substantial  expression  of  thought, — the  hieroglyphic 
writing  of  the  soul. 

2.  The  fixed  facts  of  society,  laws,  institutions,  positive 
knowledge,  were  once  ideas  in  a  projector's  brain, — thoughts 
which  have  been  forced  into  facts.  The  scouted  hypothesis 
of  the  fifteenth  century  is  the  time-honored  institution  of  the 
nineteenth ;  the  heresy  of  yesterday  is  the  common-place  of 
to-day.  We  perceive  in  every  stage  of  this  great  movement,  a 
certain  vital  force,  a  spiritual  power,  to  which  we  give  the 
name  of  genius. 

3.  From  the  period  when  our  present  civilized  races  ran 


YOUNG    LADIES'  READER.  851 

wild  and  naked  in  the  woods,  and  dined  and  supped  on  each 
other,  to  the  present  time,  the  generality  of  mankind  have 
been  contented  with  things  as  they  were.  A  small  number 
have  conceived  of  something  better  or  something  new.  From 
these  come  the  motion  and  ferment  of  life  ;  to  them  we  owe 
it,  that  existence  is  not  a  bog,  but  a  stream.  These  are  men 
of  genius. 

4.  There  are,  therefore,  two  fields  for  human ,  thought  and 
action,  the  actual  and  the  possible,  the  realized  and  the  real. 
In  the  actual,  the  tangible,  the  realized,  the  vast  proportion 
of  mankind  abide.  The  great  region  of  the  possible,  whence 
all  discovery,  invention,  creation,  proceed,  and  which  is  to  the 
actual  as  a  universe  to  a  planet,  is  the  chosen  region  of  genius. 

5.  As  almost  every  thing  which  is  now  actual,  was  once 
only  possible,  as  our  present  facts  and  axioms  were  originally 
inventions  or  discoveries,  it  is,  under  God,  to  genius  that  we 
owe  our  present  blessings.  In  the  past,  it  created  the  present ; 
in  the  present,  it  is  creating  the  future.  It  builds  habitations 
for  us,  but  its  own  place  is  on  the  vanishing  points  of  human 
intelligence, — 

"A  motion  toiling  in  the  gloom, 
The  spirit  of  the  years  to  come, 
Yearning  to  mix  itself  with  life." 

6.  The  sphere  and  the  influence  of  genius  it  is  easier  to  as- 
certain than  to  define  its  nature.  What  is  genius'?  It  has 
been  often  defined,  but  each  definition  has  included  but  a  por- 
tion of  its  phenomena.  According  to  Dr.  Johnson,  it  is  gen- 
eral force  of  mind  accidentally  directed  to  a  particular  pur- 
suit ;  but  this  does  not  cover  the  comprehensive  genius  of 
Shakspeare,  Leibnitz,  and  Goethe ;  and,  besides,  accident,  cir- 
cumstance, do  not  determine  the  direction  of  narrower  minds, 
but  simply  furnish  the  occasion,  on  which  an  inward  tendency 
is  manifested. 

7.  The  most  popular  definition  is  that  of  Coleridge,  who 
calls  genius  the  power  of  carrying  the  feelings  of  childhood 


852  SANDEES'    NEW    SERIES, 

into  the  powers  of  manhood.  Such  a  power  may  indicate  the 
genius  of  Coleridge  and  Wordsworth,  but  did  Napoleon  con 
quer  at  Austerlitz,  Newton  discover  the  law  of  gravitation, 
Shakspeare  create  Macbeth,  by  carrying  the  feelings  of  child- 
hood into  the  powers  of  manhood  1  This  mode  of  defining 
by  individual  instances,  is  like  drawing  a  map  of  Massachu- 
setts, and  calling  it  the  globe — a  thing  we  are  very  apt  to  do. 

8.  Indeed,  genius  has  commonly  been  incompletely  defined, 
because  each  definition  has  been  but  a  description  of  some  order 
of  genius.  A  true  definition  would  be  a  generalization,  made 
up  from  many  minds,  and  broad  enough  to  include  all  the  re- 
sults of  genius  in  action  and  thought.  Genius  is  not  a  single 
power,  but  a  combination  of  great  powers.  It  reasons,  but 
it  is  not  reasoning ;  it  judges,  but  it  is  not  judgment ,  it  im- 
agines, but  it  is  not  imagination ;  it  feels  deeply  and  fiercely, 
but  it  is  not  passion.  It  is  neither,  because  it  is  all.  It  is  an- 
other name  for  the  perfection  of  human  nature,  for  genius  is 
not  a  fact,  but  an  ideal. 

9.  It  is  nothing  less  than  the  possession  of  all  the  powers 
and  impulses  of  humanity,  in  their  greatest  possible  strength 
and  most  harmonious  combination ;  and  the  genius  of  any 
particular  man  is  great,  in  proportion  as  he  approaches  this 
ideal  of  universal  genius.  Conceive  of  a  mind,  in  which  the 
powers  of  Napoleon  and  Howard,  Dante  and  Newton,  Luther 
and  Shakspeare,  Kant  and  Fulton,  were  so  combined  as  to 
act  in  perfect  harmony  ;  a  mind,  vital  in  every  part,  conceiv- 
ing every  thing  with  intensity,  and  yet  conceiving  every  thing 
under  its  due  relations,  as  swift  in  its  volitions  as  in  its  thoughts 
— conceive  of  a  mind  like  this,  and  you  will  have  a  definition 
of  genius. 

10.  As  it  is,  it  requires  the  energies  of  all  men  of  genius 
to  produce  the  results  of  genius.  It  exists  somewhat  in  frag- 
ments. No  one  human  mind  comprehends  all  its  elements. 
The  nearest  approach  to  universality  of  genius  in  intellect  is 
Shakspeare ;  in  ■«  ill,  Napoleon ;  in  harmony  of  combination, 
Washington.     It  is  singular  that  Washington  is  not  generally 


YOUNG     LADIES'    READEE.  858 

3lassed  among  men  of  genius.  Lord  Brougham  declares  him 
to  be  the  greatest  man  that  ever  lived,  but  of  moderate  talents, 
— as  if  being  the  soul  of  a  revolution  and  the  creator  of  a 
country,  did  not  suppose  energies  equal  to  those  employed  in 
the  creation  of  a  poem, — as  if  there  were  any  other  certain 
test  of  genius  but  its  influence,  any  other  measure  of  the 
power  of  a  cause  but  the  magnitude  of  its  effects ! 

11.  But  to  retuiTi.  Genius,  in  its  highest  meaning,  being 
thus  an  ideal,  which  the  most  powerful  natures  have  but  ap- 
proached, which,  while  it  comprehends  all  men  of  genius,  is 
itself  comprehended  by  none,  the  question  still  arises,  what 
common  quality  distinguishes  men  of  genius  from  other  men, 
in  practical  life,  in  science,  in  letters,  in  every  department  of 
human  thought  and  action  1  This  common  quality  is  vital 
energy  of  mind, — inherent,  original  force  of  thought  and  vi- 
tality of  conception  ;  a  quality  equally  distinguishing  the  ge- 
nius of  action  and  meditation,  making  the  mindj  in  which  it 
abides  alive,  and  capable  of  communicating  intellectual  and 
moral  life  to  others. 

12.  Men,  in  whom  this  energy  glows,  seem  to  spurn  the 
limitations  of  matter ;  to  dive  beneath  the  forms  and  appear- 
ances to  the  spirit  of  things ;  to  leap  the  gulf  which  separates 
positive  knowledge  from  discovery,  the  actual  from  the  pos- 
sible ;  and,  in  their  grasp  of  spiritual  realities,  in  their  intense 
life,  they  seem  to  demonstrate  the  immortality  of  the  soul 
that  burns  within  them.  They  give  palpable  evidence  of  in- 
finite capacity,  of  indefinite  power  of  growth. 

13.  It  seems  a  mockery  to  limit  their  life  by  years, — to  sup- 
pose that  fiery  essence  can  ever  burn  out  or  be  extinguished. 
This  life,  this  energy,  this  uprising,  aspiring  flame  of  thought, 

•      "  This  mind,  this  spirit,  this  Promethean  spark, 
This  lightning  of  their  being," 

has  been  variously  called  power  of  combination,  invention, 
creation,  insight ;  but,  in  the  last  analysis,  it  is  resolved  into 
vital  energy  of  soul,  to  think  and  to  do. 


854  SANDERS      NEW     SERIES, 


14.  This  quality  of  genius  is  sometimes  difficult  to  be  dis- 
tinguished from  talent,  because  high  genius  includes  talent. 
It  is  talent  and  something  more.  The  usual  distinction  be- 
tween genius  and  talent  is,  that  one  represents  creative  thought, 
the  other  practical  skill ;  one  invents,  the  other  applies.  But 
the  truth  is,  that  high  genius  applies  its  own  inventions  better 
than  talent  alone  can  do. 

15.  A  man  who  has  mastered  the  higher  mathematics,  does 
not,  on  that  account,  lose  his  knowledge  of  arithmetic.  Han- 
nibal, Napoleon,  Shakspeare,  Newton,  Scott,  Burke,  Ark- 
Wright, — ^were  they  not  men  of  talent  as  well  as  men  of  ge- 
nius 'i  Because  a  great  man  does  not  always  do  what  many 
smaller  men  can  often  do  as  well,  smaller  men  must  not,  there, 
fore,  affect  to  pity  him  as  a  visionary,  and  pretend  to  lick  into 
shape  his  formless  theories. 

16.  But  still  there  doubtless  is  a  marked  distinction  between 
men  of  genius  and  men  simply  of  talent.  Talent  repeats, 
genius  creates.  Talent  is  a  cistern ;  genius,  a  fountain ; 
Talent  deals  with  the  actual,  with  discovered  and  realized 
truths,  analyzing,  arranging,  combining,  applying  positive 
knowledge,  and  in  action  looking  to  precedents.  Genius  deals 
with  the  possible,  creates  new  combinations,  discovers  new 
laws,  and  acts  from  an  insight  into  principles.  Talent  jogs  to 
conclusions  to  which  genius  takes  giant  leaps. 

17.  Talent  accumulates  knowledge,  and  has  it  packed  up  in 
the  memory ;  genius  assimilates  it  with  its  own  substance, 
grows  with  every  new  accession,  and  converts  knowledge  into 
power.  Talent  gives  out  what  it  has  taken  in  ;  genius  what 
has  risen  from  its  unsounded  wells  of  living  thought.  Talent, 
in  difficult  situations,  strives  to  untie  knots,  which  genius  in- 
stantly cuts  with  one  swift  decision.  Talent  is  full  of  thoughts ; 
genius,  of  thought :  one  has  definite  acquisitions ;  the  other, 
indefinite  power. 

18.  But  the  most  important  distinction  between  the  two 
qualities,  is  this :  one,  in  conception,  follows  mechanical  pro- 
cesses J  the  other,  vital.     Talent  feebly  conceives  objects  with 


YOUNG     LADIES'    EEADER.  855 

the  senses  and  understanding ;  genius,  fusing  all  its  powers 
together  in  the  alembic  of  an  impassioned  imagination,  clutches 
every  thing  in  the  concrete,  conceives  objects  as  living  reali- 
ties, gives  body  to  spiritual  abstractions  and  spirit  to  bodily 
appearances,  and,  like 

"'a  gate  of  steel 
Fronting  the  sun,  receives  and  renders  back 
His  figure  and  his  heat." 

19.  It  is  thus  the  glorious  prerogative  of  genius  to  conceive 
and  to  present  every  thing  as  alive  ;  and  here  is  the  secret  of 
its  power.  It  leads  and  sways,  because  it  communicates  living 
energy,  and  strikes  directly  at  the  soul, — searching  out  the 
very  sources  of  our  volitions,  bowing  our  weak  wills  before 
its  strong  arm,  awakening,  animating,  forcing  us  along  its 
path  of  thought,  or  over  its  waves  of  passion.  It  commands 
us,  because  it  knows  better  than  we  what  is  within  us.  Soul 
itself,  it  knows  that,  in  spite  of  our  contemptible  disguises, 
we  too  have  souls  which  must  leap  up  at  its  voice,  and  follow 
whithersoever  it  leads. 

20.  It  claims  its  rightful  mastery  over  our  spirits,  by 
awakening  us  to  a  sense  of  our  spiritual  existence.  It  speaks 
to  us,  in  our  captivity,  in  the  long-forgotten  language  of  our 
native-land.  It  sees  us  wrapped  up  in  the  dead  cerements  of 
custom,  rusting  away  in  the  sepulcher  of  being,  and  it  cries 
to  us  :-— "  Come  forth !"  It  speaks  to  us,  and  we  hear  it ;  it 
touches  us,  and  we  spring  to  our  feet. 

21.  A  crowd  of  spirits  from  the  realms  of  the  deathless  come 
thronging  around  us ; — from  the  battle-field,  where  liberty 
went  down  under  the  brutal  hoofs  of  power,  its  immortal 
image  trampled  in  the  dust, — from  the  legislative  hall,  where, 
amid  the  collision  of  adverse  intellects,  the  orator  poured  his 
torrent  of  fire, — from  the  rack  and  the  stake,  where  the  spirit 
of  man  chanted  rapturous  hymns  in  its  fierce  agonies,  and  met 
death  smiling, — fi-om  the  cell  of  the  thinker,  where  mind 
grappled  with  the  mysterious  unknown,  piercing  with  its 


856  SANDEKS'  NEW    SERIES. 

thought  of  light  the  dark  vail  of  unrealized  knowledge  and 
possible  combinations ;  from  every  scene  where  the  soul  has 
been  really  alive,  and  impatiently  tossed  aside  the  niaterial 
conditions  which  would  stifle  or  limit  its  energies,  come  the 
genii  of  thought  or  action,  to  rouse  us  from  our  sleep  of  death, 
to  tear  aside  the  thin  delusions  of  our  conceit,  and  to  pour 
into  the  shrunken  veins  of  our  discrowned  spirits,  the  fresh 
tides  of  mental  life. 


EXERCISE     CXXII. 
THE    VOICES    OF    THE    DEAD. 

DEWEY. 

1.  I  have  seen  one  die, — the  delight  of  his  friends,  the  pride 
of  his  kindred,  the  hope  of  his  country  ; — but  he  died !  How 
beautiful  was  that  offering  upon  the  altar  of  Death  !  The 
fire  of  genius  kindled  in  his  eye  ;  the  generous  affections  of 
youth  mantled  in  his  cheek  ;  his  foot  was  upon  the  threshold 
of  life ;  his  studies,  his  preparations  for  honored  and  useful 
life,  were  completed ;  his  breast  was  filled  with  a  thousand 
glowing,  and  noble,  and  never  yet  expressed  aspirations ; — 
but  he  died ! 

2.  He  died  ;  while  another,  of  a  nature  dull,  coarse,  and 
unrefined ;  of  habits  low,  base,  and  brutish  ;  of  a  promise 
that  had  nothing  in  it  but  shame  and  misery, — such  a  one,  I 
say,  was  suffered  to  encumber  the  earth.  Could  this  be,  if 
there  were  no  other  sphere  for  the  gifted,  the  aspiring,  and 
the  approved  to  act  in "?  Can  we  believe  that  the  energy  just 
trained  for  action,  the  embryo  thought  just  bursting  into  ex 
pression,  the  deep  and  earnest  passion  of  a  noble  nature  just 
swelling  into  every  beautiful  virtue,  should  never  manifest  its 
power,  should  never  speak,  should  never  unfold  itself? 

3.  Can  we  believe  that  all  this  should  die,  while  meanness, 
corruption,  sensuality,  and  every  deformed  and  dishonored 
power,  should  live  1     No  ;  ye  goodly  and  glorious  ones  ;  ye 


YOUNG    LADIES'  EEADER.  367 


godlike  in  youthful  virtue  ! — ye  die  not  in  vain  ;  ye  teach,  ye 
assure  us,  that  ye  are  gone  to  some  world  of  nobler  life  and 
action. 

4.  I  have  seen  one  die.  She  was  beautiful,  and  beautiful 
were  the  ministries  of  life  that  were  given  her  to  fulfill. 
Angelic  loveliness  enrobed  her ;  and  a  grace,  as  if  it  were 
caught  from  heaven,  breathed  in  every  tone,  hallowed  every 
affection,  shone  in  every  action,  invested,  as  a  halo,  her 
whole  existence,  and  made  it  a  light  and  blessing,  a  charm 
and  vision  of  gladness,  to  all  around  her ; — but  she  died  ! 

5.  Friendship,  and  love,vand  parental  fondness,  and  infant 
weakness,  stretched  out  their  hand  to  save  her  ;  but  they 
could  not  save  her ;  and  she  died  !  What !  did  all  that  love- 
liness die  ?  Is  there  no  land  of  the  blessed  and  the  lovely 
ones,  for  such  to  live  in  !  Forbid  it.  Reason,  Religion ! 
bereaved  affection  and  undying  love,  forbid  the  thought !  It 
can  not  be  that  such  die  in  God's  counsel,  who  live  even  in 
frail  memory  forever  ! 

6.  I  have  seen  one  die — in  the  maturity  of  every  power,  in 
the  earthly  perfection  of  every  faculty ;  when  many  tempta- 
tions had  been  overcome,  and  many  hard  lessons  had  been 
learned ;  when  many  experiments  had  made  virtue  easy,  and 
had  given  a  facility  to  action,  and  a  success  to  endeavor ; 
when  wisdom  had  been  learned  from  many  mistakes,  and 
a  skill  had  been  laboriously  acquired  in  the  use  of  many 
powers ;  and  the  being  I  looked  upon  had  just  compassed 
that  most  useful,  most  practical  of  all  knowledge, — ^how  to 
live,  and  to  act  well  and  wisely  ;  yet  I  have  seen  such  a  one 
die! 

7.  Was  all  this  treasure  gained  only  to  be  lost  ?  Were  all 
these  faculties  trained  only  to  be  thrown  into  utter  disuse  1 
Was  this  instrument, — the  intelligent  soul,  the  noblest  in  the 
iniverse, — was  it  so  laboriously  fashioned,  and,  by  the  most 
varied  and  expensive  apparatus,  that,  on  the  very  moment 
of  being  furnished,  it  should  be  cast  away  foiever?  No; 
the  dead,  as  we  call  them,  do  not  so  die.     They  carry  our 


858  SANDERS'    NEW     SERIES. 

thoughts  to  another  and  a  nobler  existence.  They  teach  ua, 
and,  especially,  by  all  the  strange  and  seemingly  untoward 
circumstances  of  their  departure  from  this  life,  that  they,  and 
we,  shall  live  forever.  They  open  the  future  world,  then,  to 
our  faith. 

8.  They  open  it,  also,  to  our  affection.  No  person  of  re- 
flection and  piety  can  have  lived  long,  without  beginning  to 
find,  in  regard  to  the  earthly  objects  that  most  interest  him, — 
his  friends, — that  the  balance  is  gradually  inclining  in  favor 
of  another  world.  How  many,  after  the  middle  period  of 
life,  and,  especially,  in  declining  years,  must  feel,  (if  the  ex- 
perience of  life  has  any  just  effect  upon  them,)  that  the  ob- 
jects of  their  strongest  attachment  are  not  here  ! 

9.  One  by  one,  the  ties  of  earthly  affection, are  cut  asunder ; 
one  by  one,  friends,  companions,  children,  parents,  are  taken 
from  us ;  for  a  time,  perhaps,  we  are  "  in  a  strait  betwixt 
two,"  as  was  the  Apostle,  not  deciding  altogether  whether  it 
is  better  to  depart ;  but  shall  we  not,  at  length,  say  with  the 
disciples,  when  some  dearer  friend  is  taken :  "  Let  us  go  and 
die  with  him"  1 

10.  The  dead  have  not  ceased  their  communication  with  us, 
though  the  visible  chain  is  broken.  If  they  are  still  the 
same,  they  must  still  think  of  us.  As  two  friends  on  earth 
may  know,  that  they  love  each  other ;  as  they  may  know, 
though  dwelling  in  different  and  distant  countries,  without 
any  visible  chain  of  communication,  that  their  thoughts  meet 
and  mingle  together, — so  may  it  be  with  two  friends,  of 
whom  the  one  is  on  earth,  the  other  in  heaven.  Especially, 
where  there  is  such  a  union  of  pure  minds,  that  it  is  scarcely 
possible  to  conceive  of  separation,  that  union  seems  to  be  a 
part  of  their  very  being ;  we  may  believe,  that  their  friend- 
ship, their  mutual  sympathy,  is  beyond  the  power  of  the 
grave  to  break  up. 

Questions. — 1.  Are  the  questions  in  the  seventh  paragraph  direct 
or  indirect?  2.  "With  what  inflection,  then,  should  they  be  read? 
3.  With  what  inflection  should  the  answe"  be  read  ?    See  Kule  I.  p.  26. 


YOUNG     LADIES'    READEE.  359 

EXERCISE   CXXIII. 
RESIGNATION. 

nCNRT  YT.   LONGFELLOW. 

1.  There  la  no  flock,  however  watched  and  tended, 

But  one  dead  lamb  is  there  ! 
There  is  no  fireside,  howsoe'er  defended, 
But  has  one  vacant  chair  ! 

2.  The  air  is  full  of  farewells  to  the  dying, 
(jpl.)  And  mournings  for  the  dead  ; 

The  heart  of  Rachel,  for  her  children  crying. 
Will  not  be  comforted  ! 

3.  Let  us  be  patient !  these  severe  afflictions 

Not  from  the  ground  arise  ; 
But  oftentimes  celestial  benedictions 
Assume  this  dark  disguise. 

4k  We  see  but  dimly  through  the  mists  and  vapors 
Amid  these  earthly  damps. 
What  seems  to  us  but  sad,  funereal  tapers. 
May  be   heaven's  distant  lamps. 

5.  There  is  no  death  !     What  seems  so,  is  tr^isition 

This  life  of  mortal  breath 
Is  but  a  suburb  of  the  life  elysian, 
Whose  portal  we  call  Death. 

6.  She  is  not  dead, — the  child  of  our  affection, — 

But  gone  unto  that  school, 
Where  she  no  longer  needs  our  poor  protection, 
And  Christ  himself  doth  rule. 

7.  In  that  great  cloister's  stillness  and  seclusi(», 

By  guardian  angels  led, 


360  SANDERS'     NEW     SERIES. 

Safe  from  temptation,  safe  from  sin's  pollution, 
She  lives,  whom  we  call  dead. 

8.  Day  after  day  we  think  what  she  is  doing, 

In  those  bright  realms  of  air  ; 
Year  after  year,  her  tender  steps  pursuing. 
Behold  her  grown  more  fair. 

9.  Thus  do  we  walk  with  her,  and  keep  unbroken 

The  bond  which  nature  gives, 
Thinking  that  our  remembrance,  though  unspoken, 
May  reach  her  where  she  lives. 

10.  Not  as  a  child  shall  we  again  behold  her ; 

For  when,  with  raptures  wild. 
In  our  embraces  we  again  enfold  her. 
She  will  not  be  a  child ; 

11.  But  a  fair  maiden,  in  her  Father's  mansion. 

Clothed  with  celestial  grace  ; 
And  beautiful  with  all  the  soul's  expansion, 
Shall  we  behold  her  face. 

12.  And  though,  at  times,  impetuous  with  emotion, 

And  anguish  long  suppressed. 
The  swelling  heart  heaves,  moaning  like  the  ocean, 
That  can  not  be  at  rest, — 

13.  We  will  be  patient,  and  assuage  the  feeling 

We  may  not  wholly  stay ; 
By  silence  sanctifying,  not  concealing. 
The  grief  that  must  have  way. 

QuKSTiONS. — 1.  Why  the  rhetorical  pause  before  the  word,  Dtathy 
fifth  stanza,  last  line  ?  See  page  43.  2.  To  what  circumstance  has 
the  poet  reference  in  the  second  stanza  ?     See  Matt.  ii.  18. 


YOUNG     LADIES'    READER.  361 


EXERCISE   CXXIV. 

A  very  pleasing  eflFect  will  be  produced  by  reading  the  first,  fifth, 
and  tenth  stanzas  of  the  following  piece,  in  concbet. 

THE   HOUR   OF   DEATH. 

MBS.    HEMAKS. 

1    {pl.)  Leaves  have  their  time  to  fall, 

And  flowers  to  wither  at  the  north  wind's  breath, 

And  stars  to  set, — ^but  all. 
Thou  hast  all  seasons  for  thine  own,  oh.  Death ! 

2.        Day  is  for  mortal  care. 

Eve  for  glad  meetings  round  the  joyous  hearth, 

Night  for  the  dreams  of  sleep,  the  voice  of  prayer,— 
But  all  for  thee,  thou  mightiest  of  the  earth. 

8.       The  banquet  hath  its  hour. 

Its  feverish  hour  of  mirth,  and  song,  and  wine  ; 

There  comes  a  day  for  griers  o'erwhelming  power, 
A  time  for  softer  tears, — but  all  are  thine. 

4.  Youth  and  the  opening  rose 

May  look  like  things  too  glorious  for  decay, 

And  smile  at  thee, — but  thou  art  not  of  those 
That  wait  the  ripened  bloom  to  seize  their  prey. 

5.  Leaves  have  their  time  to  fall. 

And  flowers  to  wither  at  the  north  wind's  breath, 

And  stars  to  set, — ^but  all. 
Thou  hast  all  seasons  for  thine  own,  oh,  Death ! 

6.  We  know  when  moons  shall  wane, 

When  summer-birds  from  far  shall  cross  the  sea, 

When  Autumn's  hue  shall  tinge  the  golden  grain  ;— 
But  who  shall  teach  us  when  to  look  for  thee  t 
16 


362  SANDERS'  NEW    SERIES. 

7.  Is  it  when  Spring's  first  gale 

Comes  forth  to  whisper  where  the  violets  lie  f 

Is  it  when  roses  in  our  paths  grow  pale  1 
They  have  one  season — all  are  ours  to  die  ! 

8.  Thou  art  where  billows  foam, 

Thou  art  where  music  melts  upon  the  air ; 

Thou  art  around  us  in  our  peaceful  home, 
And  the  world  calls  us  forth, — and  thou  art  there. 

9.  Thou  art  where  friend  meets  friend. 
Beneath  the  shadow  of  the  elm  to  rest — 

Thou  art  where  foe  meets  foe,  and  trumpets  rend 
The  skies,  and  swords  beat  down  the  princely  crest. 

10.        Leaves  have  their  time  to  fall. 

And  flowers  to  wither  at  the  north  wind's  breath, 

And  stars  to  set, — ^but  all, 
Thou  hast  all  seasons  for  thine  own,  oh,  Death ! 


EXERCISE    CXXV 
MORAL   BEAUTY. 


VICTOR  oousm. 

1.  Moral  beauty  comprises  two  distinct  elements,  equally, 
but  diversely  beautiful, — justice  and  charity,  respect  and  love 
of  men.  He  who  expresses  in  his  conduct  justice  and  charity, 
accomplishes  the  most  beautiful  of  all  works  ;  the  good  man 
is,  in  his  way,  the  greatest  of  all  artists.  But  what  shall  we 
say  of  Him  who  is  the  very  substance  of  justice  and  the  ex- 
haustless  source  of  love"? 

2.  If  our  moral  nature  is  beautiful,  what  must  be  the 
beauty  of  its  Author !  His  justice  and  goodness  are  every- 
where both  in  us  and  out  of  us.  His  justice  is  the  moral  order 
that  no  human  law  makes,  that  all  human  laws  are  forced  to  ex 


YOUNG    LADIES'     READEE.  863 


press,  that  is  preserved  and  perpetuated  in  the  world  by  its 
own  fprce.  Let  us  descend  into  ourselves,  and  consciousness 
will  attest  the  Divine  justice  in  the  peace  and  contentment 
that  accompany  virtue,  in  the  troubles  and  tortures  that  are 
the  invariable  punishments  of  vice  and  crime. 

3.  How  many  times,  and  with  what  eloquence,  have  men 
celebrated  the  indefatigable  solicitude  of  Providence,  its  bene- 
fits everywhere  manifest  in  the  smallest  as  well  as  in  the 
greatest  phenomena  of  nature,  which  we  forget  so  easily,  be- 
cause they  have  become  so  familiar  to  us,  but  which,  on  re- 
flection, call  forth  our  mingled  admiration  and  gratitude,  and 
proclaim  a  good  God,  full  of  love  for  his  creatures ! 

4.  God  is  the  principle  of  the  three  orders  of  beauty, — 
physical  beauty,  intellectual  beauty,  moral  beauty.  In  Him, 
also,  are  re-united  the  two  great  forms  of  the  beautiful,  dis- 
tributed in  each  of  these  three  orders,  to  wit,  the  beautiful 
and  the  sublime.  God  is,  par  excellence^  the  Beautiful, — for 
what  object  satisfies  more  all  our  faculties,  our  reason,  our 
imagination,  our  heart  1  He  offers  to  reason  the  highest  idea, 
beyond  which  it  has  nothing  more  to  seek ;  to  imagination  the 
most  ravishing  contemplation ;  to  the  heart  a  sovereign  object 
of  love. 

5.  He  is,  then,  perfectly  beautiful ;  but  is  He  not  sublime, 
also,  in  other  ways  ?  If  He  extends  the  horizon  of  thought,  it 
is  to  confound  it  in  the  abyss  of  His  greatness.  If  the  soul 
blooms  at  the  spectacle  of  His  goodness,  has  it  not,  also,  rea- 
son to  be  affrighted  at  the  idea  of  His  justice,  which  is  not  less 
present  to  it  %     God  is  at  once  mild  and  terrible ! 

6.  At  the  same  time  that  He  is  the  life,  the  light,  the  move- 
ment, the  ineffable  grace  of  visible  and  finite  nature.  He  is,  also, 
called  the  Eternal,  the  Invisible,  the  Infinite,  the  Absolute 
Unity,  and  the  Being  of  beings.  Do  not  these  awful  attri- 
butes, as  certain  as  the  first,  produce,  in  the  highest  degree,  in 
the  imagination  and  the  soul,  that  melancholy  emotion  excited 
by  the  sublime  1 

7.  Yes ;  God  is  for  us  the  type  and   source  of  the  two 


^M  SANDEKS'    NEW    SERIES. 

great  forms  of  beauty,  because  He  is  to  us  at  once  an  impene- 
trable enigma,  and  still  the  clearest  word  that  we  are  able  to 
find  for  all  enigmas.  Limited  beings  as  we  are,  we  compre- 
hend nothing  in  comparison  with  that  which  is  without  limits, 
and  we  are  able  to  explain  nothing  without  that  same  thing 
which  is  without  limits. 

8.  By  the  being  that  we  possess,  we  have  some  idea  of  the 
infinite  being  of  God  ;  by  the  nothingness  that  is  in  us,  we 
lose  ourselves  in  the  being  of  God ;  and  thus  always  forced 
to  recur  to  Him,  in  order  to  explain  any  thing,  and  always 
thrown  back  within  ourselves  under  the  weight  of  His  infini- 
tude, we  experience  by  turns,  or  rather  at  the  same  time,  for 
this  God  who  raises  and  casts  us  down,  a  sentiment  of  irresist- 
ible attraction  and  astonishment,  not  to  say  insurmountable 
terror,  which  He  alone  can  cause  and  allay,  because  He  alone 
is  the  unity  of  the  sublime  and  the  beautiful. 


EXERCISE    CXXVI 


HUMAN  ACTIVITY   WITHOUT  LIMIT. 

VICTOR   COUSIN. 

1.  Every  thing  has  its  end.  This  principle  is  as  absolute 
as  that  which  refers  every  event  to  a  cause.  Man  has,  there- 
fore, an  end.  This  end  is  revealed  in  all  his  thoughts,  in  all 
his  ways,  in  all  his  sentiments,  in  all  his  life.  Whatever  he 
does,  whatever  he  feels,  whatever  he  thinks,  he  thinks  upon 
the  infinite,  loves  the  infinite,  tends  to  the  infinite. 

2.  This  need  of  the  infinite  is  the  mainspring  of  scientific 
curiosity,  the  pricciple  of  all  discoveries.  Love,  also,  stops 
and  rests  only  there.  On  the  route,  it  may  experience  lively 
joys  ;  but  a  secret  bitterness  that  is  mingled  with  them,  soon 
makes  it  feel  their  insufficiency  and  emptiness.  Often,  while 
ignorant  of  its  true  object,  it  asks  whence  comes  that  fatal 
disenchantment,  by  which  all  its  successes,  all  its  pleasures, 
are  successively  extinguished.     If  it  knew  how  to  read  itself, 


YOUNG     LADIES'     READER.  S^ft 

it  would  recognize,  that,  if  nothing  here  below  satisfies  it,  it  is 
because  its  object  is  more  elevated,  because  the  true  b  >urn 
after  which  it  aspires,  is  infinite  perfection. 

3.  Finally,  like  thought  and  love,  human  activity  is  with- 
out limits.  Who  can  say  where  it  shall  stop "?  Behold  this 
earth  almost  known.  Soon  another  world  will  be  necessary 
for  us.  Man  is  journeying  toward  the  infinite,  which  is  al- 
ways receding  before  him,  which  he  always  pursues.  He 
conceives  it,  he  feels  it,  he  bears  it,  thus  to  speak,  in  himself, 
— ^how  should  his  end  be  elsewhere  1  Hence  that  unconquer- 
able instinct  of  immortality,  that  universal  hope  of  another 
life,  to  which  all  worships,  all  poesies,  all  traditions,  bear  wit- 
ness. 

4.  We  tend  to  the  infinite  with  all  our  powers;  death 
comes  to  interrupt  the  destiny  that  seeks  its  goal,  and  over- 
takes it  unfinished.  It  is,  therefore,  likely  that  there  is  some- 
thing after  death,  since,  at  death,  nothing  in  us  is  terminated. 
Look  at  the  flower  that  to-morrow  will  not  be.  To-day,  at 
least,  it  is  entirely  developed ;  we  can  conceive  nothing  more 
beautiful  of  its  kind  ;  it  has  attained  its  perfection.  My  per- 
fection, my  moral  perfection,  that  of  which  I  have  the  clearest 
idea  and  the  most  invincible  need,  for  which  I  feel  that  I  am 
bom, — in  vain  I  call  for  it,  in  vain  I  labor  for  it ;  it  escapes 
me,  and  leaves  me  only  hope.     Shall  this  hope  be  deceived  1 

5.  All  beings  attain  their  end  ;  should  man  alone  not  at- 
tain his  ?  Should  the  greatest  of  creatures  be  the  most  ill- 
treated"?  But  a  being  that  should  remain  incomplete  and 
unfinished,  that  should  not  attain  the  end  which  all  his  in- 
stincts proclaim  for  him,  would  be  a  monster  in  the  eternal 
order, — a  problem  much  more  difficult  to  solve,  than  the  dif- 
culties  which  have  been  raised  against  the  immortality  of  the 
soul.  In  our  opinion,  this  tendency  of  all  the  desires  and  all 
the  powers  of  the  soul  toward  the  infinite,  elucidated  by  the 
principle  of  final  causes,  is  a  serious  and  important  confirma- 
tion of  the  moral  proof  and  the  metaphysical  proof  of  an- 
other life. 


866  SANDERS'   NEW    SERIES, 


EXERCISE    CXXVII. 
HYMN  TO   THE   SETTING   SUN. 

G.    P.    R.    JAMBS. 

1.  (sl.)  Slow,  slow,  mighty  wanderer,  sink  to  thy  rest, 

Thy  course  of  beneficence  done  ; 
As  glorious  go  down  to  the  ocean's  warm  breast, 
As  when  thy  bright  race  was  begun ; 
For  all  thou  hast  done. 
Since  thy  rising,  O  sun  ! 
May  thou  and  thy  Maker  be  blest. 
Thou  hast  scattered  the  night  from  thy  broad  golden  way, 
Thou  hast  given  us  thy  light  through  a  long  happy  day. 
Thou  hast  roused  up  the  birds,  thou  hast  wakened  the  flowers, 
To  chant  on  thy  path,  and  to  perfume  the  hours. 

Then  slow,  mighty  wanderer,  sink  to  thy  rest, 
And  rise  again,  beautiful,  blessing  and  blest. 

2.  Slow,  slow,  mighty  wanderer,  sink  to  thy  rest, 

Yet  pause  but  a  moment,  to  shed 
One  warm  look  of  love  on  the  earth's  dewy  breast, 
Ere  the  starred  curtain  fall  round  thy  bed. 
And  to  promise  the  time, 
When,  awaking  sublime, 
Thou  shalt  rush  all  refreshed  from  thy  rest. 
Warm  hopes  drop,  like  dews,  from  thy  life-giving  hand. 
Teaching  hearts,  closed  in  darkness,  like  flowers,  to  expand  ; 
Dreams  wake  into  joys  when  first  touched  by  thy  light, 
As  glow  the  dim  waves  of  the  sea  at  thy  sight. 

Then  slow,  mighty  wanderer,  sink  to  thy  rest. 
And  rise  again,  beautiful,  blessing  and  blest. 

3.  Slow,  slow,  mighty  wanderer,  sink  to  thy  rest, 

Prolonging  the  sweet  evening  hour ; 
Then  robe  again  soon  in  the  morn's  golden  vest, 
To  go  forth  in  thy  beauty  and  power ; 


YOUNG    LADIES'     EEADER.  867 

Yet  pause  on  thy  way, 
To  the  full  hight  of  day, 
For  thy  rising  and  setting  are  blest. 
When  thou  com'st  after  darkness  to  gladden  our  eyes, 
Or  departest  in  glory,  in  glory  to  rise, 
May  hope  and  may  prayer  still  be  woke  by  tny  rays, 
And  thy  going  be  marked  with  thanksgiving  and  praise. 
Then  slow,  mighty  wanderer,  sink  to  thy  rest, 
And  rise  again,  beautiful,  blessing,  and  blest. 


EXERCISE    CXXVIII. 
INCOMPREHENSIBILITY   OF   GOD. 

MISS   ELIZABETH   TOWN8KND. 

**I  go  forward,  but  He  is  not  there  ;    and  backward,  but  I  can 
not  perceive  Him." 

1.  Where  art  Thou  ?     Thou  !  Source  and  support  of  all 
That  is,  or  seen,  or  felt ;  Thyself  unseen, 

Unfelt,  unknown, — alas !  unknowable  ! 

I  look  abroad  among  Thy  works :  the  sky. 

Vast,  distant,  glorious,  with  its  world  of  suns, 

Life-giving  earth,  and  ever-moving  main. 

And  speaking  winds, — and  ask,  if  these  are  Thee  ! 

2.  The  stars  that  twinkle  on,  the  eternal  hills, 
The  restless  tide's  outgoing  and  return. 
The  omnipresent  and  deep-breathing  air, — 
Though  hailed  as  gods  of  old,  and  only  less, — 
Are  not  the  Power  I  seek  ;  are  Thine,  not  Thee  ! 
I  ask  Thee  from  the  Past ;  if,  in  the  years 
Since  first  intelligence  could  reach  its  source. 

Or  in  some  former,  unremembered  being, 

(If  such,  perchance,  were  mine,)  did  they  behold  Th6e  ? 


368  SANDERS'    NEW    SERIES. 

3.  And  next  interrogate  Futurity, — 
So  fondly  tenanted  with  better  things 

Than  e'er  Experience  owned, — but  both  are  mute  , 
And  Past  and  Future,  vocal  on  all  else, 
So  full  of  memories  and  phantasies. 
Are  deaf  ancPspeechless  here ! 

4.  Fatigued,  I  turn 
From  all  vain  parley  with  the  elements. 

And  close  mine  eyes,  and  bid  the  thought  turn  inward 

From  each  material  thing  its  anxious  quest, 

If,  in  the  stillness  of  the  waiting  soul. 

He  may  vouchsafe  himself,  Spirit  to  spirit ! 

O  Thou,  at  once  most  dreaded  and  desired, 

Pavilioned  still  in  darkness,  wilt  Thou  hide  Thee  ? 

What  though  the  rash  request  be  fraught  with  fate, 

Nor  human  eye  may  look  on  Thine  and  live ! 

Welcome  the  penalty  !  let  that  come  now, 

Which  soon  or  late  must  come.     For  light,  like  this, 

Who  would  not  dare  to  die  1 

5.  Peace,  my  proud  aim, 
And  hush  the  wish  that  knows  not  what  it  asks  ; 
Await  His  will,  who  hath  appointed  this. 

With  every  other  trial.     Be  that  will 

Done  now,  as  ever.     For  thy  curious  search. 

And  unprepared  solicitude,  to  gaze 

On  Him — the  Unrevealed — learn  hence,  instead, 

To  temper  highest  hope  with  humbleness. 

6.  Pass  thy  novitiate  in  these  outer  courts, 
Till  rent  the  vail,  no  longer  separating 
The  holiest  of  all ;  as  erst,  disclosing 
A  brighter  dispensation  ;  whose  results 
Ineffable,  interminable,  tend 

E'en  to  the  perfecting  thyself,  thy  kind, 
Till  meet  for  that  sublime  beatitude, 
By  the  firm  promise  of  a  voice  from  heaven, 
Pledged  to  the  pure  in  heart  1 


YOUNG    LADIES'  READER.  869 


EXERCISE    CXXIX. 

1.  Ab'-b6  de  Fleu'-ry,  a  French  historian  and  divine,  born  1640. 
He  was  associated  with  Fenelon,  in  the  task  of  educating  the  young 
Dukes  of  Burgundy,  Anjou  and  Berri.     He  died  in  1723. 

2.  Fen'-e-lon,  the  amiable  and  virtous  archbishop  of  Cambray,  was 
born  in  1651.  He  was  intrusted  by  Louis  XTV.  with  the  education 
of  his  grandsons,  the  Dukes  of  Burgundy,  Anjou,  and  Berri.  He 
wrote  many  excellent  works,  among  which,  the  most  celebrated,  is 
the  "Adventures  of  Telemachxis,"    Died  in  January,  1715. 

3.  Rous-SEAu',  a  most  eloquent  writer,  though  eccentric  in  the 
highest  degree,  was  born  at  Geneva  in  1712.  He  was  the  author  of 
various  works.     He  died  1778. 

WOMAN,— HER   POWER,   AND   HER   PROGRESS. 

L.    AIME    MARTIN. 

1.  Whatever  may  be  the  customs  and  laws  of  a  couatry, 
the  women  of  it  decide  the  morals.  Free  or  subjugated,  they 
reign,  because  they  hold  possession  of  our  passions.  But  this 
influence  is  more  or  less  salutary,  according  to  the  degree  of 
esteem  which  is  granted  to  them.  Whether  they  are  our 
idols,  or  companions,  relatives,  slaves,  or  beasts  of  burden, 
the  reaction  is  complete,  and  they  make  us  such  as  they  are 
themselves.  It  seems  as  if  nature  connected  our  intelligence 
with  their  dignity,  as  we  connect  our  happiness  with  their 
virtue. 

2.  This,  therefore,  is  a  law  of  eternal  justice, — -man  can  not 
degrade  women  without  himself  falling  into  degradation  ;  he 
can  not  raise  them  without  becoming  better.  Let  us  cast  our 
eyes  over  the  globe,  and  observe  those  two  great  divisions 
of  the  human  race,  the  East  and  the  West.  One  half  of  the 
ancient  world  remains  without  progress,  without  thought,  and 
under  the  load  of  a  barbarous  civilization  ;  women  there  are 
slaves.  The  other  half  advances  toward  freedom  and  light; 
the  women  there  are  loved  and  honored. 

3.  That  which  has  been  done  to  lower  women,  and  that 
which  they  have  done  toward  our  civilization,  offer,  perhaps, 
the  most  moral  and  dramatic  part  of  our  history.     There  was 

16* 


870  SANDERS'  NEW    SERIES. 


a  time  when  their  beauty  alone  wrestled  against  barbarism. 
Shut  up  in  castles  like  pri'joners,  they  there  civilized  the  war- 
riors who  despised  their  weakness,  but  who  adored  their 
charms.  Accused  of  ignorance,  and  deprived  of  instruction, 
disgraced  by  prejudice,  and  deified  by  love, — feeble,  timid, — 
seeing  around  them  nothing  but  soldiers  and  the  sword,  they 
adopted  the  passions  of  their  tyrants,  but,  in  adopting,  they 
ameliorated  them. 

4.  They  directed  combatants  toward  the  defense  of  the 
helpless.  Chivalry  became  a  protecting  power ;  it  repaired 
injuries,  and  paved  the  way  for  laws;  and,  at  last,  after 
having  fought  in  order  to  conquer  kingdoms,  it  was  softened 
into  fighting  for  the  beauty  of  women,  and  civilization  began 
by  gallantry.  A  great  revolution  was  accomplished  in  France, 
on  the  day,  when  a  noble  knight  drew  off  his  men,  in  conse- 
quence of  hearing  that  the  castle,  of  which  he  was  just  about 
to  commence  the  siege,  had  become  the  asylum  of  the  wife 
of  his  enemy,  and  that  this  wife  was  about  to  become  a  mother. 

5.  At  a  later  period,  some  glimpses  of  science  began  to 
pierce  through  the  shades  which  covered  the  world ;  all  eyes 
were  dazzled  by  it,  and  it  was  then,  that  the  destiny  of  women 
was  pitiable.  While  men  only  believed  themselves  to  be  su- 
perior from  the  strength  of  their  bodies,  and  the  force  of  their 
courage,  they  had  ceded  to  the  power  of  feebleness  and  beau- 
ty ;  but  scarcely  had  they  acquired  a  smattering  of  science, 
when  pride  seized  them,  and  women  nearly  lost  their  empire. 

6.  But  the  worst  period  for  them  was  the  age  of  scribes 
and  doctors ;  for,  at  that  time,  all  the  impertinent  questions 
concerning  the  pre-eminence  of  men,  and  the  inferiority  of 
women,  were  brought  forward.  Even  the  existence  of  their 
souls  became  a  matter  of  doubt,  and  theologians  themselves, 
amidst  these  agitating  discussions,  forgot,  for  a  moment,  that 
our  Savior  was  made  human  by  his  mother.  These  disputes 
led  to  this  deplorable  result,  that  the  ignorance  of  women 
became  a  moral  system,  as  the  ignorance  of  the  lower  classes 
had  become  a  system  of  policy. 


YOUNG     LADIES'     READER.  871 


•y.  Our  forefathers  long  confounded  ignorance  with  inno- 
cence, and  thence  came  all  their  troubles ;  they  wished  women 
to  be  silly  for  the  sake  of  their  husbands,  ftnd  the  people  to 
be  ignorant  for  the  sake  of  power.  Women,  thus  assimilated 
to  the  people,  like  thom,  did  not  receive  any  species  of  instruc- 
tion. Every  thing  was  against  them ;  science,  legislature, 
and  theology, — that  theology,  indeed,  which  was  mistaken  for 
religion.  It  was  by  depriving  them  of  their  souls,  by  sub- 
jecting them  to  mean  and  vulgar  habits,  which  stupefy  the 
mind,  that  they  hoped  to  preserve  them  in  spotless  purity. 

8.  In  the  time  of  Louis  XIV.,  when  women  busied  them- 
selves with  affairs  of  state,  the  Abbe  de  Fleury^  declared, 
that  girls  ought  to  be  taught  something  beside  their  catechism, 
sewing,  singing,  dancing,  how  to  dress,  to  speak  civilly,  and 
to  make  a  good  courtesy.  But  the  progress  he  wished  them, 
to  attain,  consisted  in  knowing  how  to  read,  write,  and  cipher, 
— to  know  when  to  ask  advice  in  matters  of  business,  and 
enough  of  medicine  to  take  care  of  the  sick. 

9.  Then  came  Fenelon,'  who  wished  them  to  read  ancient 
and  modern  history,  to  understand  Latin,  to  peruse  works  of 
eloquence,  literature,  and  poesy  ;  and  yet  such  was  the  preju- 
dice belonging  to  a  period  when  women  exercised  an  almost 
romantic  power,  and  gave  grace  and  politeness  to  society, 
that  the  archbishop  was  obliged  to  add  certain  restrictions,  and 
to  justify  himself  on  theological  principles.  "  Women,"  said 
the  venerable  ecclesiastic,  "  are  half  of  the  human  race,  re- 
deemed by  the  blood  of  Christ,  and,  like  us,  destined  to  eter- 
nal life."  Since  the  time  of  Rousseau^  and  Fenelon,  great 
progress  has  taken  place  among  men,  and  consequently  the 
education  of  women  has,  in  some  measure,  profited. 

10.  The  question  is  no  longer  asked  whether  it  be  advisable 
to  instruct  them ;  we  consent  to  the  development  of  their  un- 
dcrstanding,  and  lessons  are  given  to  them  by  artists  and 
masters  of  languages  ;  they  skim,  as  it  were,  a  general  course 
of  study,  but,  in  this  study,  nothing  leads  them  to  think  with 
their  own  thoughts  ;  it  is  chiefly  the  school  routine  which  gives 


872  SANDERS'    NEW    SERIES. 

occupation  to  their  brains,  and  thus,  at  an  age  Tvhen  the  pas- 
sions ai'e  awakened,  those  passions,  to  which  the  habits  of  vir- 
tue and  the  principles  of  religion  ought  be  opposed,  they  find 
in  themselves  skill  for  the  piano,  a  memory  for  words,  and  a 
soul  which  sleeps.  Such  is,  with  some  rare  exceptions,  the 
woman  of  the  present  day,  with  her  forms  of  devotion,  her 
school  morality,  Ker  mechanical  talents,  her  love  of  pleasure, 
her  ignorance  of  the  world,  and  her  desire  to  love  and  b*" 
loved. 


EXERCISE   CXXX. 
DEATH    OF   LITTLE   NELL. 

CHARLES   DICKENS. 

1.  (pi.)  She  was  dead.  No  sleep  so  beautiful  and  calm,  so 
free  from  trace  of  pain,  so  fair  to  look  upon.  She  seemed  a 
creature  fresh  from  the  hand  of  God,  and  waiting  for  the 
breath  of  life  ;  not  one  who  had  lived  and  suffered  death. 
Her  couch  was  dressed  with  here  and  there  some  winter-ber» 
ries  and  green  leaves,  gathered  in  a  spot  she  had  been  used 
to  favor.  "  When  I  die,  put  near  me  something  that  has 
loved  the  light,  and  had  the  sky  above  it  always."  Those 
were  her  words. 

2.  She  was  dead.  Dear,  gentle,  patient,  noble  Nell  was 
dead.  Her  little  bird, — a  poor,  slight  thing  the  pressure  of 
a  finger  would  have  crushed, — was  stirring  nimbly  in  its 
cage,  and  the  strong  heart  of  its  child-mistress  was  mute  and 
motionless  forever !  Where  were  the  traces  of  her  early 
cares,  her  sufferings,  and  fatigues  1  All  gone.  Sorrow  was 
dead,  indeed,  in  her  ;  but  peace  and  perfect  happiness  were 
born — imaged — in  her  tranquil  beauty  and  profound  repose. 

3.  And  still  her  former  self  lay  there,  unaltered  in  this 
change.  Yes  I  the  old  fireside  had  smiled  upon  that  same 
sweet  face ;  it  had  passed,  like  a  dream,  through  haunts  of 
Ciisery  and  care ;  at  the  door  of  the  poor  schoolmaster  oe 


YOUNG    LADIES'   READER.  878 

the  summer  evening,  before  the  furnace-fire  upon  the  cold 
wet  night,  at  the  still  bedside  of  the  dying  boy,  there  had 
been  the  same  mild  and  lovely  look.  So  shall  we  know  the 
angels,  in  their  majesty,  after  death. 

4.  The  old  man  held  one  languid  arm  in  his,  and  that  the 
small  tight  hand  folded  to  his  breast  for  warmth.  It  was  the 
hand  she  had  stretched  out  to  him  with  her  last  smile, — the 
hand  that  had  led  him  on  through  all  their  wanderings.  Ever 
and  anon  he  pressed  it  to  his  lips;  then  hugged  it  to  his 
breast  again,  murmuring  that  it  was  warmer  now ;  and,  as 
he  said  it,  he  looked  in  agony  to  those  who  stood  around, 
as  if  imploring  them  to  help  her. 

5.  She  was  dead,  and  past  all  help,  or  need  of  help.  The 
ancient  rooms  she  had  seemed  to  fill  with  life,  even  while  her 
own  was  waning  fast,  the  garden  she  had  tended,  the  eyes  she 
had  gladdened,  the  noiseless  haunts  of  many  a  thoughtless 
hour,  the  paths  she  had  trodden,  as  it  were,  but  yesterday, 
could  know  her  no  more. 

6.  "  It  is  not,"  said  the  schoolmaster,  as  he  bent  down  to 
kiss  her  on  the  cheek,  and  gave  his  tears  free  vent,  "  it  is  not 
in  this  world  that  Heaven's  justice  ends.  Think  what  it  is, 
compared  with  the  world  to  which  her  young  spirit  has 
winged  its  early  flight,  and  say,  if  one  deliberate  wish,  ex- 
pressed in  solemn  tones  above  this  bed,  could  call  her  back 
to  life,  which  of  us  would  utter  it !" 

7.  She  had  been  dead  two  days.  They  were  all  about  her 
at  the  time,  knowing  that  the  end  was  drawing  on.  She  died 
soon  after  daybreak.  They  had  read  and  talked  to  her  in 
the  earlier  portion  of  the  night ;  but,  as  the  hours  crept  on, 
she  sank  to  sleep.  They  could  tell,  by  what  she  faintly  ut- 
tered in  her  dreams,  that  they  were  of  her  journeyings  with 
the  old  man ;  they  were  of  no  painful  scenes,  but  of  those 
who  had  helped  them,  and  used  them  kindly ;  for  she  often 
said  "  God  bless  you  !"  with  great  fervor. 

8.  Waking,  she  never  wandered  in  her  mind  but  once,  and 
that  was  at  beautiful  music,  which,  she  said,  was  in  the  air. 


874  SANDEES'     NEW     SERIES. 

God  knows.  It  may  have  been.  Opening  her  eyes,  at  last, 
from  a  very  quiet  sleep,  she  begged  that  they  would  kiss  her 
once  again.  That  done,  she  turned  to  the  old  man,  with  a 
lovely  smile  upon  her  face, — such,  they  said,  as  they  had 
never  seen,  and  never  could  forget, — and  clung,  with  both  her 
arms,  about  his  neck.  She  had  never  murmured  or  com- 
plained ;  but,  with  a  quiet  mind,  and  manner  quite  unaltered, 
— save  that  she  every  day  became  more  earnest  and  more 
grateful  to  them, — faded  like  the  light  upon  the  summer's 
evening. 

9.  The  child  who  had  been  her  little  friend,  came  there,  al- 
most as  soon  as  it  was  day,  with  an  offering  of  dried  flowers, 
which  he  begged  them  to  lay  upon  her  breast.  He  told  them 
of  his  dream  again,  and  that  it  was  of  her  being  restored  to 
them,  just  as  she  used  to  be.  He  begged  hard  to  see  her : 
saying,  that  he  would  be  very  quiet,  and  that  they  need  not 
fear  his  being  alarmed,  for  he  had  sat  alone  by  his  younger 
brother  all  day  long  when  he  was  dead,  and  had  felt  glad  to 
be  so  near  him.  They  let  him  have  his  wish  ;  and,  indeed, 
he  kept  his  word,  and  was,  in  his  childish  way,  a  lesson  to 
them  all. 

10.  Up  to  that  time,  the  old  man  had  not  spoken  once, — 
except  to  her, — or  stirred  from  the  bedside.  But,  when  he 
saw  her  little  favorite,  he  was  moved  as  they  had  not  seen 
him  yet,  and  made  as  though  he  would  have  him  come  nearer. 
Then,  pointing  to  the  bed,  he  burst  into  tears  for  the  first 
time,  and  they  who  stood  by,  knowing  that  the  sight  of  this 
child  had  done  him  good,  left  them  alone  together. 

11.  Soothing  him  with  his  artless  talk  of  her,  the  child 
persuaded  him  to  take  some  rest,  to  walk  abroad,  to  do  almost 
as  he  desired  him.  And,  when  the  day  came,  on  which  they 
must  remove  her,  in  her  earthly  shape,  from  earthly  eyes  for- 
ever, he  led  him  away,  that  he  might  not  know  when  she  was 
taken  from  him.  They  were  to  gather  fresh  leaves  and  ber- 
ries for  her  bed. 

12.  And  now  the  bell — the  bell  she  had  so  often  heard  by 


YOUNG     LADIES'    READEE.  875 

night  and  day,  and  listened  to  with  solemn  pleasure,  almost 
as  a  living  voice,  rung  its  remorseless  toll  for  her,  so  young, 
so  beautiful,  so  good.  Decrepit  age,  and  vigorous  life,  and 
blooming  youth,  and  helpless  infancy,  poured  forth  —  on 
crutches,  in  the  pride  of  health  and  strength,  in  the  full  blush 
of  promise,  in  the  mere  dawn  of  life — to  gather  round  her 
tomb.  Old  men  were  there,  whose  eyes  were  dim  and  senses 
failing, — grandmothers,  who  might  have  died  ten  years  ago, 
and  still  been  old, — the  deaf,  the  blind,  the  lame,  the  palsied, 
• — the  living  dead,  in  many  shapes  and  forms,  to  see  the  clos- 
ing of  that  early  grave. 

13.  Along  the  crowded  path  they  bore  her  now, — pure  as 
the  newly-fallen  snow  that  covered  it, — whose  day  on  earth 
had  been  as  fleeting.  Under  that  porch  where  she  had  sat, 
when  Heaven,  in  its  mercy,  brought  her  to  that  peaceful  spot, 
she  passed  again,  and  the  old  church  received  her  in  its  quiet 
shade. 

14.  They  carried  her  to  one  old  nook,  where  she  had,  many 
and  many  a  time,  sat  musing,  and  laid  their  burden  softly  on 
the  pavement.  The  light  streamed  on  it  through  the  colored 
window — a  window  where  the  boughs  of  trees  were  ever 
rustling  in  the  summer,  and  where  the  birds  sang  sweetly  all 
day  long.  With  every  breath  of  air  that  stirred  among 
those  branches  in  the  sunshine,  some  trembling,  changing 
light  would  fall  upon  her  grave. 

15.  Earth  to  earth,  ashes  to  ashes,  dust  to  dust.  Many  a 
young  hand  dropped  in  its  little  wreath, — many  a  stifled  sob 
was  heard.  Some,  and  they  were  not  a  few,  knelt  down. 
All  were  sincere  and  truthful  in  their  sorrow.  The  service 
done,  the  mourners  stood  apart,  and  the  villagers  closed 
round  to  look  into  the  grave,  before  the  stone  should  be  re- 
placed. 

16.  One  called  to  mind  how  he  had  seen  her  sitting  on 
that  very  spot,  and  how  her  book  had  fallen  on  her  lap,  and 
she  was  gazing,  with  a  pensive  face,  upon  the  sky.  Another 
told  how  he  had  wondered  much,  that  one  so  delicate  as  she 


376  SANDERS'    NEW    SERIES. 

should  be  so  bold ;  how  she  had  never  feared  to  enter  the 
church  alone,  at  night,  but  had  loved  to  linger  there  when 
all  was  quiet ;  and  even  to  climb  the  tower-stair,  with  no 
more  light  than  that  of  the  moon-rays  stealing  through  the 
loop-holes  in  the  thick  old  walls.  A  whisper  went  about 
among  the  oldest  there,  that  she  had  seen  and  talked  with 
angels ;  and,  when  they  called  to  mind  how  she  had  looked 
and  spoken,  and  her  early  death,  some  thought  it  might  be 
so,  indeed. 

17.  Thus,  coming  to  the  grave  in  little  knots,  and  glancing 
down,  and  giving  place  to  others,  and  falling  off  in  whispering 
groups  of  three  or  four,  the  church  was  cleared,  in  time,  of 
all  but  the  sexton  and  the  mourning  friends.  Then,  when  the 
dusk  of  evening  had  come  on,  and  not  a  sound  disturbed  the 
sacred  stillness  of  the  place, — when  the  bright  moon  poured 
in  her  light  on  tomb  and  monument,  on  pillar,  wall,  and  arch, 
— and,  most  of  all,  it  seemed  to  them,  upon  her  quiet  grave, 
— in  that  calm  time,  when  all  outward  things  and  inward 
thoughts  teem  with  assurances  of  immortality,  and  worldly 
hopes  and  fears  are  humbled  in  the  dust  before  them,  then, 
with  tranquil  and  submissive  hearts,  they  turned  away,  and 
left  the  child  with  God. 


EXERCISE  CXXXI. 


,  It  is  sometimes  desirable  to  have  each  member  of  a  class  read  a 
piece  complete  in  itself.  To  answer  this  end,  the  following  collection 
of  briefi  though  beautiful  productions,  have  been  brought  together 
all  under  one  head. 

I. 
THE  SCULPTOR-BOY'S  VISION. 

1.      Chisel  in  hand  stood  a  sculptor -boy. 
With  his  marble  block  before  him. 


YOUi^Q     LADIES'  BEAD  ER.  |TT 

And  his  face  lit  up.  with  a  smile  of  joy, 

As  an  angel-dream  passed  o'er  him  ; 
He  carved  the  dream  on  that  shapeless  stone, 

With  many  a  sharp  incision  ; 
With  heaven's  own  light  the  sculpture  shone,- 

He  had  caught  that  angel  vision. 

Sculptures  of  Life  are  we,  as  we  stand 

With  our  souls  uncarved  before  us ; 
Waiting  the  hour  when  at  God's  command, 

Our  life-dream  passes  o'er  us. 
If  we  carve  it  then,  on  the  yielding  stone, 

With  many  a  sharp  incision, 
Its  heavenly  beauty  shall  be  our  own, 

Our  lives,  that  angel  vision. 


n. 

YEARS  AGO. 

OEOBGE  P.    MORRB. 

1.  Near  the  banks  of  that  lone  river. 

Where  the  water-lilies  grow, 
Breathed  the  fairest  flower  that  ever 

Bloomed  and  faded  years  ago. 
How  we  met  and  loved  and  parted. 

None  on  earth  can  ever  know — 
Nor  how  pure  and  gentle-hearted 

Beamed  the  mourned  one  years  ago. 

2.  Like  the  stream  with  lilies  laden. 

Will  life's  future  current  flow, 
Till  in  Heaven  I  meet  the  maiden. 

Fondly  cherished  years  ago. 
Hearts  that  love,  like  mine,  forget  not ; 

They  're  the  same  in  weal  or  woe. 
And  the  star  of  memory  sets  not 

In  the  grave  of  years  ago. 


878  SANDERS'     NEW     SERIES 


III.       ^ 

FREEDOM   OF   THE   MIND. 

WILLIAM  LLOYD  GARMSON. 

High  walls  and  huge  the  body  may  confine, 

And  iron  grates  obstruct  the  prisoner's  gaze, 
And  massive  bolts  may  baffle  his  design, 

And  vigilant  keepers  watch  his  devious  ways : 
Yet  scorns  the  immortal  mind  this  base  control ! 

No  chains  can  bind  it,  and  no  cell  inclose : 
(=)  Swifler  than  light,  it  flies  from  pole  to  pole, 

And  in  a  flash  from  earth  to  heaven  it  goes  ! 
It  leaps  from  mount  to  mount ;  from  vale  to  vale 

It  wanders,  plucking  honeyed  fruits  and  flowers  ; 
It  visits  home,  to  hear  the  fireside  tale. 

Or,  in  sweet  converse,  pass  the  joyous  hours. 
'T  is  up  before  the  sun,  roaming  afar. 
And  in  its  watches  wearies  every  star. 


IV. 

INYOCATION. 


1.  On  the  swift-flying  hours 

Another  bright  day. 
With  its  tears  and  its  smiles, 

Has  vanished  away. 
Thou  who  dost  number 

Our  days  as  they  flee, 
May  each  that  departs 

Bear  us  nearer  to  Thee ! 

2.  On  the  wide  sea  of  life, 

Soon  our  barks  will  be  tost, 
And  the  sweet  ties  that  bind  us 
Be  broken  and  lost. 


ANNE  0.    LYNCH. 


YOUNG     LADIES'    READER.  879 


I 


Father  in  Heaven, 

Be  our  guide  to  that  shore, 
Where  night  never  cometh, 

Where  partings  are  o'er. 

V. 
TRUE    WIT. 

True  wit  is  like  the  brilliant  stone, 

Dug  from  the  Indian  mine, 
Which  boasts  two  different  powers  in  one, 

To  cut  as  well  as  shine. 
Genius,  like  that,  if  polished  right, 

With  self-same  gifts  abounds  ; 
Appears  at  once  both  keen  and  bright. 

And   sparTcles,  wliile  it  wounds. 


VI. 

"For  where  your  treasure  is,  there  will  your  heart  be  also."- 
Matthew,  vi.  21. 

BEBNABD   BABTOX. 

1.  Thy  path,  like  most  by  mortal  trod. 
Will  have  its  thorns  and  flowers. 
Its  stony  steps,  its  velvet  sod, 
Its  sunshine  and  its  showers. 


2.  Through  smooth  and  rough,  o'er  flower  and  thorn, 

Beneath  whatever  sky. 
Still  bear  thee  as  a  being  born 
For  immortality. 

3.  And  be  thy  choicest  treasures  stored 

Where  Faith  may  hold  the  key ; 
For  "  where  our  treasure  is,"  our  Lord    . 
Hath  said — "  the  heart  will  be." 


$^  SANDERS'    NEW    SERIES. 


VII. 
LINES   BY   A  YOUNG   LADY   BORN  BLIITO. 

1.  If  this  delidous,  grateful  flower, 
Which  blows  but  for  a  little  hour, 
Should  to  the  sight  so  lovely  be. 
As  from  its  fragrance  seems  to  me, 
A  sigh  must  then  its  color  show, 
For  that 's  the  softest  joy  I  know ; 
And  sure  the  rose  is  like  a  sigh, 
Born  just  to  soothe,  and  then — to  die. 

2.  My  father,  when  our  fortune  smiled, 
With  jewels  decked  his  eyeless  child  ; 
Their  glittering  worth  the  world  might  see. 
But,  ah !  they  had  no  charms  for  me  ; 

A  trickling  tear  bedewed  my  arm, — 
I  felt  it, — and  my  heart  was  warm  ; 
And  sure  the  gem  to  me  most  dear, 
Was  a  kind  father's  pitying  tear. 

VIII. 
ODE  TO  THE  LARK. 

JAMXS  BOOG. 

1.  Bird  of  the  wilderness. 

Blithesome  and  cumberless. 
Sweet  be  thy  matin  o'er  moorland  and  lea  ! 

Emblem  of  happiness, 

Blest  is  thy  dwelling-place, — 
O,  to  abide  in  the  desert  with  Ihee ! 

Wild  is  thy  lay  and  loud, 

Far  in  the  downy  cloud, 
Love  gives  it  energy,  love  gave  it  birth, 

Where  on  thy  dewy  wing — 

Where  art  thou  journeying  ? 
Thy  lay  is  in  heaven,  thy  love  is  or  earth. 


YOUNG    LADIES'     READER.  §81 

2.  O'er  fell  and  fountain  sheen, 

O'er  moor  and  mountain  green, 
O'er  the  red  streamer  that  heralds  the  day, 

Over  the  cloudlet  dim, 

Over  the  rainbow's  rim, 
Musical  cherub,  soar,  singing  away ! 

Then,  when  the  gloaming  comes, 

Low  in  the  heather  blooms. 
Sweet  will  thy  welcome  and  bed  of  love  be ! 

Emblem  of  happiness. 

Blest  is  thy  dwelling-place, — 
0,  to  abide  in  the  desert  with  thee  ! 

IX. 
EPITHALAMIUM* 

J.   O.   0.   BKAINAKD. 

1.  I  saw  two  clouds  at  morning, 

Tinged  with  the  rising  sun  ; 
And  in  the  dawn  they  floated  on. 

And  mingled  into  one  ; 
I  thought  that  morning  cloud  was  blest, 
It  moved  so  sweetly  to  the  west. 

2.  I  saw  two  Summer  currents, 

Flow  smoothly  to  their  meeting. 
And  join  their  course  with  silent  force. 

In  peace  each  other  greeting ; 
Calm  was  their  course  through  banks  of  green, 
While  dimpling  eddies  played  between. 

3.  Such  be  your  gentle  motion. 

Till  life's  last  pulse  shall  beat. 
Like  Summer's  beam,  and  Summer's  stream, 

Float  on,  in  joy,  to  meet 
A.  calmer  sea,  where  storms  shall  cease— 
A  purer  sky,  where  all  is  peace. 

•  Ep-i-tha-la'mi-ijm,  a  nnptial  eong  or  poem. 


382  SANDERS'    NEW    SERIES, 

X. 

STRENGTH   OF   AFFECTION. 

SHAESPEAKK. 

Heaven  and  yourself 
Had  part  in  this  fair  maid,  now  Heaven  hath  all ; 
And  all  the  better  is  it  for  the  maid  ; 
Your  part  in  her  you  could  not  keep  from  death, 
But  Heaven  keeps  His  part  in  eternal  life. 
The  most  you  sought  was  her  promotion, 
For  't  was  your  Heaven,  she  should  be  advanced ; 
And  weep  ye  now,  seeing  she  is  advanced 
Above  the  clouds,  as  high  as  heaven  itself? 
O  !  in  this  love,  you  love  your  child  so  ill, 
That  you  run  mad,  seeing  that  she  is  well. 

XI. 
MEMORY  OF  THE  DEPARTED. 

W.   D.   OAIXAGHSB. 

1.  When  last  the  April  bloom  was  flinging 

Sweet  odors  on  the  air  of  Spring, 
In  forest  aisles  thy  voice  was  ringing, 

Where  thou  didst  with  the  red-bird  sing : 
Again  the  April  bloom  is  flinging 

Sweet  odors  on  the  air  of  Spring, 
But  now  in  Heaven  thy  voice  is  ringing. 

Where  thou  dost  with  the  angels  sing. 

2.  When  last  the  maple-bud  was  swelling. 

When  last  the  crocus  bloomed  below, 
My  heart  to  thine  its  love  was  telling ; 

Thy  soul  with  mine  kept  ebb  and  flow. 
Again  the  maple-bud  is  swelling. 

Again  the  crocus  blooms  below ; 
In  Heaven  thy  heart  its  love  is  telling, 

But  still  our  souls  keep  ebb  and  flow. 


YOUNG    LADIES'     READER.  883 


xn. 

MIND. 

ASXNSIDE. 

The  immortal  mind,  superior  to  his  fate 

Amid  the  outrage  of  external  things, 

Firm  as  the  solid  base  of  this  great  world, 

Rests  on  its  own  foundation.     Blow,  ye  winds  ! 

Ye  waves  !  ye  thunders !  roll  your  tempests  on ! 

Shake,  ye  old  pillars  of  the  marble  sky  ! 

Till  all  its  orbs  and  all  its  worlds  of  fire 

Be  loosened  from  their  seats  ;  yet  still  serene, 

The  unconquered  mind  looks  down  upon  the  wreck ; 

And  ever  stronger  as  the  storms  advance, 

Firm  through  the  closing  ruin  holds  his  way, 

Where  Nature  calls  him  to  the  destined  goal. 

xm. 

THE  FLIGHT   OF   TIME. 

J.  G.  FBaciyAU 
Faintly  flow,  thou  falling  river, 

Like  a  dream  that  dies  away ; 
Down  to  ocean  gliding  ever 

Keep  thy  calm  unruffled  way  ; 
Time,  with  such  a  silent  motion, 

Floats  along  on  wings  of  air, 
To  Eternity's  dark  ocean. 

Burying  all  its  treasures  there. 

Roses  bloom,  and  then  they  wither, 

Cheeks  are  bright,  then  fade  and  die, 
Shapes  of  light  are  wafted  hither, 

Then,  like  visions,  hurry  by  : 
Quick  as  clouds  at  evening  driven, 

O'er  the  many-colored  west. 
Years  are  bearing  us  to  Heaven, 

Home  of  happiness  and  rest. 


SANDERS'     NEW     SERIES 

XIV. 
IMMORTALITY. 

ROBERT   BUBNa. 

A  few  days  may, — a  few  years  must — 
Repose  us  in  the  silent  dust. 
The  voice  of  nature  loudly  cries, 
And  many  a  message  from  the  skies, 
That  something  in  us  never  dies  ; 
That  on  this  frail,  uncertain  state. 
Hang  matters  of  eternal  weight ; 
That  future  life  in  worlds  unknown 
Must  take  its  hue  from  this  alone ; 
Whether  as  heavenly  glory  bright, 
Or  dark  as  misery's  woeful  night. 

XV. 
DIFFERENCE  BETWEEN  KNOWLEDGE  AND  WISDOM. 

CX)WPEE. 

Knowledge  and  wisdom,  far  from  being  one, 
Have  oft  times  no  connection.     Knowledge  dwells 
In  heads  replete  with  thoughts  of  other  men  ; 
Wisdom  in  minds  attentive  to  their  own. 
Knowledge,  a  rude  unprofitable  mass, 
The  mere  materials,  with  which  Wisdom  builds, 
Till  smoothed  and  squared  and  fitted  to  its  place, 
Does  but  encumber  whom  it  seems  to  enrich. 
Knowledge  is  proud,  that  he  has  learned  so  much. 
Wisdom  is  humble,  that  he  knows  no  more. 

XVI. 
FALSEHOOD. 

HAVARD 

Let  falsehood  be  a  stranger  to  thy  lips , 
Shame  on  the  policy  that  first  began 
To  tamper  with  the  heart  to  hide  its  thoughts  ; 
And  doubly  shame  on  that  inglorious  tongue 
That  sold  its  honesty,  and  told  a  lie. 


YOUNG     LADIES'    READEK.  885 

EXERCISE    CXXXII. 
THE   TEMPEST. 

GEORGE   D.    PRENTICE. 

1.  I  never  was  a  man  of  feeble  courage.  There  are  few 
scenes  of  either  human  or  elemental  strife,  upon  which  I  have 
not  looked  with  a  brow  of  daring.  I  have  stood  in  the  front 
of  the  battle  when  the  swords  were  gleaming  and  circling 
around  me  like  fiery  serpents  in  the  air.  I  have  seen  these 
things  with  a  swelling  soul,  that  knew  not,  that  recked  no 
danger. 

2.  But  there  is  something  in  the  thunder's  voice,  that  makes 
me  tremble  like  a  child.  I  have  tried  to  overcome  this  un- 
manly weakness.  I  have  called  pride  to  my  aid ;  I  have 
sought  for  moral  courage  in  the  lessons  of  philosophy,  but  it 
avails  me  nothing.  At  the  first  low  moaning  of  the  distant 
cloud,  my  heart  shrinks  and  dies  within  me. 

3.  My  involuntary  dread  of  thunder  had  its  origin  in  an 
incident  that  occurred  when  I  was  a  boy  of  ten  years.  I  had 
a  little  cousin,  a  girl  of  the  same  age  as  myself,  who  had  been 
the  constant  companion  of  my  youth.  Strange,  that,  after  the 
lapse  of  many  years,  that  occurrence  should  be  so  familiar  to 
me  !  I  can  see  the  bright  young  creature,  her  eyes  flashing 
like  a  beautiful  gem,  her  free  locks  streaming  as  in  joy  upon 
the  rising  gale,  and  her  cheeks  glowing,  like  a  ruby,  through  a 
wreath  of  transparent  snow. 

4.  Her  voice  had  the  melody  and  joyousness  of  a  bird's, 
and  when  she  bounded  over  the  wooded  hill,  or  fresh  green 
valley,  shouting  a  glad  answer  to  every  voice  of  nature,  and 
clapping  her  little  hands  in  the  ecstasy  of  young  existence, 
she  looked  as  if  breaking  away,  like  q-  free  nightingale,  from 
the  earth,  and  going  off"  where  all  things  are  beautiful  like 
her. 

5.  It  was  a  morning  in  the  middle  of  August.  The  little 
girl  had  been  passing  some  days  at  my  father's  house,  and 

17 


SANDEKS'  NEW    SERIES. 

she  was  now  to  return  home.  Her  path  lay  across  the  fields, 
and  gladly  I  became  the  companion  of  her  walk.  I  nevei 
knew  a  summer  morning  more  beautiful  and  still.  Only  one 
little  cloud  was  visible,  and  that  seemed  as  pure,  and  white, 
and  peaceful,  as  if  it  had  been  the  incense-smoke  of  some 
burning  censer  of  the  skies. 

6.  The  leaves  hung  silent  in  the  woods,  the  waters  in  the 
bay  had  forgotten  their  undulations,  the  flowers  were  bending 
their  heads,  as  if  dreaming  of  the  rainbow  and  dew,  and  the 
whole  atmosphere  was  of  such  a  soft  and  luxurious  sweetness, 
that  it  seemed  a  cloud  of  roses  scattered  down  by  the  hands 
of  a  Peri,*  from  the  afar-off  garden  of  Paradise.  The  green 
earth  and  the  blue  sea  lay  around,  in  their  boundlessness,  and 
the  peaceful  sky  bent  over  and  blessed  them. 

7.  The  little  creature  at  my  side  was  in  a  delirium  of  hap- 
piness, and  her  clear,  sweet  voice  came  ringing  upon  the  air  as 
often  as  she  heard  the  tones  of  a  favorite  bird,  or  found  some 
strange  and  lovely  flower  in  her  frolic  wanderings.  The  un- 
broken and  almost  supernatural  stillness  of  the  day  continued 
until  near  noon.  Then,  for  the  first  time,  the  indications  of 
an  approaching  tempest  were  manifest. 

8.  On  the  summit  of  a  mountain,  at  the  distance  of  about 
a  mile,  the  folds  of  a  dark  cloud  became  suddenly  visible, 
and,  at  the  same  instant,  a  hollow  roar  came  down  upon  the 
winds,  as  if  it  had  been  the  sound  of  waves  in  a  rocky  cavern. 
The  cloud  rolled  out  like  a  banner  unfolded  upon  the  air,  but 
still  the  atmosphere  was  as  calm,  and  the  leaves  as  motion- 
less as  before ;  and  there  was  not  even  a  quiver  among  the 
sleeping  waters  to  tell  of  the  coming  hurricane. 

9.  To  escape  the  tempest  was  impossible.  As  the  only  re- 
sort, we  fled  to  an  oak  that  stood  at  the  foot  of  a  tall  and  rag- 
ged precipice.  Here  we  stood,  and  gazed  almost  breathlessly 
upon  the  clouds,  marshaling  themselves  like  bloody  giants  in 
the  sky.  The  thunder  was  not  frequent,  but  every  burst  was 
so  fearful,  that  the  young  creature  who  stood  by  me,  shut  her 

♦  See  page  81. 


YOUNa    LADIES'  KEADER.  887 


eyes  convulsively,  and  clung  with  desperate  strength  to  my 
arm,  and  shrieked  as  if  her  heart  would  break. 

10.  A  few  minutes,  and  the  storm  was  upon  us.  During 
the  hight  of  its  fury,  the  little  girl  lifted  her  finger  toward  the 
precipice  that  towered  over  us.  I  looked,  and  saw  an  ame- 
thystine peak.  And  the  next  moment  the  clouds  opened,  the 
rocks  tottered  to  their  foundations,  a  roar  like  the  groan  of 
the  universe  filled  the  air,  and  I  felt  myself  blinded,  and  thrown 
I  know  not  whither.  How  long  I  remained  insensible,  I  can 
not  tell ;  but  when  consciousness  returned,  the  violence  of  the 
tempc-st  was  abating,  (>)  the  roar  of  the  winds  was  dying  in 
the  tree-tops,  and  the  deep  tones  of  thunder-clouds  came  in 
fainting  murmurs  from  the  eastern  hills. 

11.  I  rose,  and  looked  tremblingly  and  almost  deliriously 
around.  She  was  there,  the  d<;ar  idol  of  my  infant  love, 
stretched  out  upon  the  green  earth.  After  a  moment  of  irres- 
olution, I  went  up  and  looked  upon  her.  The  handkerchief 
upon  her  neck  was  slightly  rent,  and  a  single  dark  spot  upon 
her  bosom  told  where  the  pathway  of  death  had  been.  At 
first,  I  clasped  her  to  my  breast  with  a  cry  of  agony,  and  then 
laid  her  down,  and  gazed  upon  her  face  almost  with  feelings 
of  calmness. 

12.  Her  bright,  disheveled  hair  clustered  sweetly  around 
her  brow ;  the  look  of  terror  had  faded  from  her  lips,  and 
infant  smiles  were  pictured  there ;  the  rose  tinge  upon  her 
cheeks  was  lovely  as  in  life ;  and,  as  I  pressed  them  to  my 
own,  the  fountains  of  tears  were  opened,  and  I  wept  as  if  my 
heart  were  waters.  I  have  but  a  dim  recollection  of  what 
followed.  I  only  know,  that  I  remained  weeping  and  motion- 
less till  the  coming  twilight,  and  I  was  taken  tenderly  by  the 
hand,  and  led  away  where  I  saw  the  countenances  of  parents 
and  sister. 

13.  Many  years  have  gone  by  on  the  wings  of  light  and 
shadow,  but  the  scenes  I  have  portrayed  still  come  over  me, 
at  times,  with  terrible  distinctness.  The  oak  yet  stands  at 
the  base  of  the  precipice,  but  its  limbs  are  black  and  dead, 


SANDERS'    NEW     SERIES, 

and  the  hollow  trunk  looking  upward  to  the  sky,  as  if  "  call- 
ing to  the  clouds  for  drink,"  is  an  emblem  of  rapid  and  noise- 
less decay. 

14.  A  year  ago,  I  visited  the  spot,  and  the  thought  of  by- 
gone years  came  mournfully  back  to  me.  I  thought  of  the 
little  innocent  being  who  fell  by  my  side,  like  some  beautiful 
tree  of  Spring,  rent  up  by  the  whirlwind  in  the  midst  of  blos- 
soming. But  I  remembered, — and  O,  there  was  joy  in  the 
memory ! — that  she  had  gone  where  no  lightnings  slumber  in 
the  folds  of  the  rainbow-cloud,  and  where  the  sunlit  waters 
are  broken  only  by  the  storm-breath  of  Omnipotence. 


EXERCISE  CXXXIIl 


THE  BROKEN-HEARTED. 

GEORGE  D.    PEENTICE. 

1.  About  two  years  ago,  I  took  up  my  residence  for  a  few 
■weeks  in  a  country  village  in  the  eastern  part  of  New  Eng- 
land. Soon  after  my  arrival,  I  became  acquainted  with  a 
young  lady,  apparently  about  seventeen  years  of  age.  She 
had  lost  the  idol  of  her  heart's  purest  love,  and  the  shadows  of 
deep  and  holy  memories  were  resting,  like  the  wing  of  death, 
upon  her  brow. 

2.  I  first  met  her  in  the  presence  of  the  mirthful.  She 
was,  indeed,  a  creature  to  be  admired  ;  her  brow  was  gar- 
landed by  the  young  year's  sweetest  flowers,  and  her  sunny 
tresses  were  hanging  beautifully  and  low  upon  her  bosom ; 
and  she  moved  through  the  crowd  with  such  floating,  unearthly 
grace,  that  the  bewildered  gazer  looked  almost  to  see  her  fade 
away  into  the  air,  like  the  creation  of  a  pleasant  dream. 

3.  She  seemed  cheerful,  and  even  gay ;  yet  I  saw  that  her 
gayety  was  but  the  mockery  of  her  feelings.  She  smiled,  but 
tiiere  was  something  in  her  smile,  which  told  me  that  its  mourn- 
ful beauty  was  but  the  bright  reflection  of  a  tear  j  and  her 


YOUNG    LADIES'    READER. 


eyelids,  at  times,  pressed  heavily  down,  as  if  struggling  to  re- 
press the  tide  of  agony  that  was  bursting  up  from  her  heart's 
secret  urn.  She  looked  as  if  she  could  have  left  the  scene  of 
festivity,  and  gone  out  beneath  the  quiet  stars,  and  laid  her 
forehead  down  upon  the  fresh,  green  earth,  and  poured  out 
her  stricken  soul,  gush  after  gush,  till  it  mingled  with  the 
eternal  fountain  of  purity  and  life. 

4.  I  have  lately  heard,  that  the  young  lady  of  whom  I  have 
spoken,  is  dead.  The  close  of  her  life  was  as  calm  as  the 
falling  of  a  quiet  stream ;  gentle  as  the  sinking  of  the  breeze 
that  lingers  for  a  time  round  a  bed  of  withered  roses,  and 
then  dies  for  very  sweetness. 

5.  It  can  not  be,  that  earth  is  man's  only  abiding  place.  It 
can  not  be  that  our  life  is  a  bubble,  cast  up  by  the  ocean  of 
eternity,  to  float  but  for  a  moment  upon  its  surface,  and  then 
sink  into  nothingness  and  darkness  forever.  Else,  why  is  it 
that  the  high  and  glorious  aspirations  which  leap  like  angels 
from  the  temple  of  our  hearts,  are  forever  wandering  abroad, 
unsatisfied  ? 

6.  Why  is  it  that  the  rainbow  and  the  cloud  come  over  us 
with  a  beauty  that  is  not  of  earth,  and  then  pass  off  and  leave 
us  to  muse  on  their  faded  loveliness  1  Why  is  it  that  the 
stars,  which  hold  their  festival  around  the  midnight  throne, 
are  set  above  the  grasp  of  our  limited  faculties,  and  forever 
mocking  us  with  their  unapproachable  glory  1  And,  finally, 
why  is  it  that  bright  forms  of  human  beauty  are  presented  to 
the  view,  and  then  taken  from  us,  leaving  the  thousand  streams 
of  the  affections,  to  flow  back  in  an  Alpine  torrent  upon  our 
hearts  ? 

7.  We  are  born  for  a  higher  destiny  than  that  of  earthw 
There  is  a  realm  where  the  rainbow  never  fades  ;  where  the 
stars  will  be  spread  out  before  us  like  the  islands  that  slum- 
ber on  the  ocean ;  and  where  the  beautiful  beings,  that  here 
pass  before  us  like  visions,  will  stay  in  our  presence  forever. 


890  SANDERS'    NEW    SERIES. 


EXERCISE    CXXXIV. 
THE  STARS   OF   NIGHT. 

FRANCES   BROWN. 

1.  Whence  are  your  glorious  goings  forth, 

Ye  children  of  the  sky, 
In  whose  bright  silence  seems  the  power 

Of  all  eternity  ? 
For  time  hath  let  his  shadow  fall 

O'er  many  an  ancient  light ; 
But  ye  walk  above  in  the  brightness  still — 

O,  glorious  Stars  of  Night ! 

2.  The  vestal  lamp  in  Grecian  fane 

Hath  faded  long  ago ; 
On  Persia's  hills  the  worshiped  flame 

Hath  lost  its  ancient  glow : 
And  long  the  heaven-sent  fire  is  gone, 

With  Salem's  temple  bright ; 
But  ye  watch  o'er  wandering  Israel  yet — 

O,  changeless  Stars  of  Night ! 

3.  Long  have  ye  looked  upon  the  Earth, 

O'er  vale  and  mountain-brow  : 
Ye  saw  the  ancient  cities  rise, 

And  gild  their  ruins  now ; 
Ye  beam  upon  the  cottage  home, 

The  conqueror's  path  of  might. 
And  shed  your  light  alike  on  all — 

O,  priceless  Stars  of  Night ! 

4.  But  where  are  they  who  learned  from  you 

The  fates  of  coming  time. 
Ere  yet  the  pyramids  arose 

Amid  their  desert  clime  % 
Yet  still  in  wilds  and  deserts  far, 

Ye  bless  the  watcher's  sight, 


yOUNO    LADIES'   READER.  891 

And  shine  where  bark  hath  never  been — 
O,  lonely  Stars  of  Night ! 

5.  Much  have  ye  seen  of  human  tears, 

Of  human  hope  and  love  : 
And  fearful  deeds  of  darkness,  too, 

Ye  witnesses  above  ! 
Say,  will  that  blackening  record  live 

Forever  in  your  sight, 
Watching  for  judgment  on  the  earth, — 

O,  sleepless  Stars  of  Night  1 

6.  How  glorious  was  your  song  that  rose 

With  the  fresh  morning's  dawn  ! 
And  still,  amid  our  summer  sky, 

Its  echo  lingers  on ; 
Though  ye  have  shone  on  many  a  grave, 

Since  Eden's  early  blight ; 
Ye  tell  of  hope  and  glory  still — 

O,  deathless  Stars  of  Night ! 


EXERCISE   CXXXV. 
A  MOTHER'S  LOVK 

EMILr   TAYLOa. 

1 ,  Hast  thou  sounded  the  depths  of  yonder  sea. 
And  counted  the  sands  that  under  it  be  1 

■     Hast  thou  measured  the  hight  of  heaven  above  ? 
Then  mayst  thou  measure  a  mother'?  love. 

2.  Hast  thou  talked  with  the  blessed,  of  leading  on 
To  the  throne  of  God  some  wandering  sonl 
Hast  thou  witnessed  the  angels'  bright  employ  ] 
Then  mayst  thou  speak  of  a  mother's  joy. 


392  SANDERS'     NEW     SERIES. 

3.  Evening  and  morn,  hast  thou  watched  the  bee 
Go  forth  on  her  errands  of  industry  1 

.  The  bee,  for  herself,  hath  gathered  and  toiled, 
But  the  mother's  cares  are  all  for  her  child. 

4.  Hast  thou  gone  with  the  traveler.  Thought,  nfkv, 
From  pole  to  pole,  and  from  star  to  star  1 

Thou  hast, — but  on  ocean,  earth,  or  sea, 
The  heart  of  a  mother  has  gone  with  thee. 

5.  There  is  not  a  grand,  inspiring  thought. 
There  is  not  a  truth  by  wisdom  taught. 
There  is  not  a  feeling,  pure  and  high. 
That  may  not  be  read  in  a  mother's  eye. 

6.  And,  ever  since  earth  began,  that  look 
Has  been  to  the  wise  an  open  book. 

To  wm  them  back  from  the  love  they  prize, 
To  the  holier  love  that  edifies. 

7.  There  are  teachings  on  earth,  and  sky,  and  air, 
The  heavens  the  glory  of  God  declare, 

But  more  loud  than  the  voice  beneath,  above, 
He  is  heard  to  speak  through  a  mother's  love. 

Questions. — 1.  Are  the  questions  in  the  above  piece  direct  or  indi- 
rect ?     2.  What  pause  after  the  word  hast,  fourth  stanza,  third  line  ? 


EXERCISE    CXXXVI. 
INFANCY  AND   MATURE   AGE.— AN  APOLOGUE. 

CKABBR 

[Men  are  but  children  of  a  larger  growth.] 
1.  'Twas  eight  o'clock,  and  near  the  fire 
My  ruddy  little  boy  was  seated, 
And  with  the  titles  of  a  sire 

My  ears  expected  to  be  greeted,— 


YOUNG     LADIES'  EEADER.  893 

But  vain  the  thought ! — by  sleep  oppressed, 
No  father  there  the  child  descried ! 

His  head  reclined  upon  his  breast, 
Or  nodding  rolled  from  side  to  side. 

2.  "  Let  this  young  rogue  be  sent  to  bed  ;" — 

More  I  had  not  time  to  say, 
When  the  poor  urchin  raised  his  head 

To  beg  that  he  might  longer  stay. 
Refused ;  toward  rest  his  steps  he  bent 

With  tearful  eye  and  aching  heart ; 
But  claimed  his  playthings  ere  he  went, 

And  took  up  stairs  his  horse  and  cart. 

3*  For  new  delay,  though  oft  denied. 

He  pleaded ; — wildly  craved  the  boon ; — 
Though  past  his  usual  hour,  he  cried 

At  being  sent  away  so  soon. 
If  stern  to  him,  his  grief  I  shared  ; 

(Unmoved,  who  hears  his  offspring  weep  1) 
Of  soothing  him  I  half  despaired, 

When  all  his  cares  were  lost  in  sleep ! 

4.  "  Alas  !  poor  infant !"  I  exclaimed, 

"  Thy  father  blushes  now  to  scan, 
In  all  which  he  so  lately  blamed. 

The  follies  and  the  fears  of  man. 
The  vain  regret,  the  anguish  brief. 

Which  thou  hast  known,  sent  up  to  bed. 
Portrays  of  man  the  idle  grief. 

When  doomed  to  slumber  with  the  dead." 

5.  And  more  I  thought ; — when  up  the  stairs 

With  "  longing,  ling'ring  looks"  he  crept, 
To  mark  of  man  the  childish  cares. 
His  playthings  carefully  he  kept. 
17* 


894  SANDERS'    NEW    SERIES. 


Thus  mortals  on  life's  later  stage, 

When  nature  claims  their  forfeit  breath, 

Still  grasp  at  wealth,  in  pain  and  age. 
And  cling  to  golden  toys  in  death. 

'Tis  morn  !  and  see  my  smiling  boy 

Awakes  to  hail  returning  light ; 
To  fearless  laughter  !  boundless  joy  ! 

Forgot  the  tears  of  yesternight ! 
Thus  shall  not  man  forget  his  woe  1 

Survive  of  age  and  death  the  gloom  1 
Smile  at  the  cares  he  knew  below  1 

And,  renovated,  burst  the  tomb  ? 

O,  my  Creator !  when  thy  will 

Shall  stretch  this  frame  on  earth's  cold  bed, 
Let  that  blest  hope  sustain  me  still. 

Till  thought,  sense,  mem'ry, — all  are  Jied. 
And,  grateful  for  what  thou  may'st  give, 

No  tear  shall  dim  my  fading  eye. 
That 't  was  thy  pleasure  I  should  live — 

That 't  is  thy  mandate  bids  me  die. 


EXERCISE   CXXXVII. 
SOCIAL  ENJOYMENT— WHERE  FOUND. 

N.   T.    MIRROE. 

1.  "How  have  you  enjoyed  yourself  this  evening ?"  Mr. 
Westbury  inquired,  as  soon  as  the  carriage-door  was  closed, 
and  the  coachman  had  mounted  his  box. 

2.  "  Quite  as  well  as  I  do  all  scenes  of  similar  character,'* 
Julia  answered. 

3.  "  Do  you  not  then  relish  society  1" 

4.  "  Not  very  well,  in  such  large  masses,"  said  Julia.  "  To 
my  apprehension,  very  large  parties  counteract  the  purposes, 
for  which  social  feelings  were  implanted  within  us." 


YOUNG     LADIES'    READEE.  395 

5.  Then  you  disapprove,  as  well  as  disrelish  them  f  *  said 
Mr.  Westbury. 

6.  "  I  fear  they  are  not  quite  innocent,"  said  Julia.  "  So 
far  as  my  observation  has  extended,  they  hav^ittle  tendency 
to  increase  benevolence,  or  any  of  the  finer  feelings  of  the 
heart.  I  have  often  feared,  that  vanity  and  thirst  for  admira- 
tion were  the  causes  that  draw  together  one  half  of  the  crowd, 
and  a  vulgar  love  of  luxuries  the  other. " 

7.  "  Those  causes  surely  do  not  influence  all  those  who  at- 
tend large  assemblies,"  said  Mr.  Westbury.  "  Such  persons 
as  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Eveleth,  for  instance,  are  entirely  above 
them." 

8.  "  Undoubtedly,"  said  Julia.  "  Still  I  believe  the  rule  as 
general  as  any  other." 

9.  "  Does  not  the  elegant  and  instructive  conversation  of 
such  a  man  as  Mr.  Eveleth,  reconcile  you  to  the  crowd  1"  Mr. 
Westbury  inquired. 

10.  "  Certainly  not,"  said  Julia.  "  How  much  more  highly 
such  conversation  would  be  enjoyed, — how  much  greater  ben- 
efit derived  from  it,  in  a  small  circle.  Artificial  delicacy  and 
refinement, — artificial  feeling, — artificial  good-nature, — arti- 
ficial friendship,  are  the  usual  elements  that  make  up  large  com- 
panies. Had  Mr,  and  Mrs.  Eveleth  spent  this  evening  with 
us  in  our  quiet  parlor,  how  much  greater  would  have  been 
the  enjoyment !  how  much  more  profitably  the  time  might 
have  been  occupied !" 

11.  "It  might,"  said  Mr.  Westbury.  "Mr.  Eveleth  has 
great  colloquial  powers.  His  conversation  is  at  once  brilliant 
and  instructive.  I  know  no  gentleman  who  equals  him  in  this 
particular." 

12.  "I  can  not  say  quite  as  much  as  that,"  said  Julia, 
"  though  he  certainly  converses  uncommonly  well." 

13.  "Who  can  you  name  that  is  his  equal?"  asked  Mr. 
Westbury. 

14.  Julia  hesitated  a  little,  and  blushed  a  great  deal,  though 
her  blushes  were  unseen,  as  she  said  : 


396  SANDERS'     NEW     SERIES. 

"In  conversational  powers,  I  think  rny  present  compan 
ion  is  very  rarely,  if  ever  excelled.  And  why,"  she  added, 
"  such  gentlemen  mingle  in  crowds,  where  their  talents  are  in 
a  great  meas^'e  lost,  instead  of  meeting  in  select  circles, 
where  they  could  find  congenial  minds,  at  least,  in  some  de- 
gree, capable  of  appreciating  them,  I  can  not,  indeed,  conceive. 

1^  ,  "  But  I  suppose  ray  ideas  of^rational  enjoyment,  of  ele- 
gant society,  are  very  singular."  She  stopped  short,  fearing 
she  .was  saying  too  much,  but  Mr.  Westbury  requested  her  to 
proceed.  After  a  minute's  hesitation  she  said,  "  I  think  the 
crowded  drawing-room  should  be  abandoned  to  those  who  are 
capable  of  no  higher  enjoyment  than  gossip,  nonsense,  flirta- 
tions, and  eating  oysters,  confections,  and  creams ;  and  that 
people  of  talent  and  education,  principle  and  refinement, 
should  associate  freely  in  small  circles,  and  with  little  cere- 
mony. 

16.  "  In  such  kind  of  intercourse,  new  friendships  would  be 
formed,  and  old  ones  cemented,  the  mind  and  the  heart  would 
be  improved,  and  envy  and  detraction  excluded.  After  an 
evening  spent  in  such  a  circle,  the  monitor  within  would  be 
at  peace,  and  the  blessing  and  protection  of  Heaven  could  be 
sought  without  a  feeling  of  shame  and  self-condemnation." 

17.  "Then  your  conscience  is  really  at  war  with  large  par 
ties  ?"  said  Mr.  Westbury. 

18.  "I  can  not  deny  that  it  is,"  Julia  answered.  "  Im 
pelled  by  circumstances,  I  have  striven  to  think  they  might 
sometimes  be  innocently  attended,  and  perhaps  they  may  ; 
but  I  confess  that  the  reproaches  of  my  own  conscience  are 
more  and  more  severe  every  time  I  repeat  the  indulgence. 
Whatever  they  be  to  others,  I  am  constrained  to  believe  they 
are  not  innocent  for  me." 

19.  Mr.  Westbury  niade  no  reply,  for  at  that  moment  the 
carriage  stopped  at  their  own  door,  and  the  subject  was  not 
again  resumed. 

20.  Every  party  was  sure  to  procure  for  Mrs.  Westbury 
the  favor  of  a  call  from  Mrs.  Cunningharp.     On  the  following 


YOUNG     LADIES'    READER.  897 

morning,  at  as  early  an  hour  as  etiquette  would  allow,  she 
made  her  a])pearance. 

21.  "  I  could  not  stay  away  this  morning,"  she  said  the 
moment  she  entered.  "  I  am  so  vexed  and  so  hurt,  I  must 
have  the  sympathy  of  some  friendly  heart ;  and  you  are  a 
friend  to  every  one,  especially  when  in  trouble." 

22.  "  What  troubles  you,  Mrs.  Cunningham  ?"  Mrs.  West- 
bury  inquired. 

23.  "  You  recollect,"  said  Mrs.  Cunningham,  "  what  I  said 
to  you  about  Mr.  Cunningham's  indisposition.  Well,  as  soon 
as  I  got  home,  I  ran  up  stairs,  of  course,  you  know,  to  see  how 
he  was,  expecting  to  find  him  in  bed  and  asleep.  Judge  how 
I  felt,  when  I  found  the  bed  as  I  left  it,  and  no  husband  in  the 
chamber.  I  flew  down  stairs,  and  searched  every  room  for 
him,  but  in  vain.  I  then  rung  for  the  servant,  and  asked  '  if 
she  knew  where  Mr.  Cunningham  was  V  '  La,  ma'am,'  said 
she,  '  I  'm  sure  I  don't  know.  He  went  out  just  after  you 
did.  He  called  me  to  give  charge  about  the  fires,  and  said 
he  was  going  out.  I  thought  he  had  altered  his  mind,  and 
was  going  to  Mrs.  T 's.' 

24.  "  I  dismissed  the  girl,  and  went  to  my  chamber  in 
agony,  as  you  may  suppose.  I  declare  I  hardly  know  what  I 
did  or  thought  for  three  long  hours ;  for  it  was  so  long  before 
Mr.  Cunningham  came  home  !  I  don't  know  what  I  said  to 
him  when  he  came,  but  he  was  not  the  kind,  affectionate  crea- 
ture that  he  had  ever  been  ;  for  h^  almost  harshly  told  me  to 
*  cease  my  upbraidings,' — (upbraidings !  think  what  a  word !) 
'  for,  if  I  sought  pleasure  where  I  liked,  I  must  not  quarrel 
with  him  for  doing  the  same  !'  My  dear  Mrs.  Westbury,  I 
could  not  make  him  tell  me  where  he  had  been,  do  all  I  could 
■ — and  I  have  horrible  surmises.  What  shall  I  do  ?  I  am 
sick  at  heart  and  almost  distracted." 

25.  "  Will  you  follow  my  advice,  my  dear  Mrs.  Cunning 
ham?"  said  Mrs.  Westbury,  who  truly  pitied  her  distress, 
much  as  she  blamed  her. 

26.  "O  yes,  I  will  do  any  thing  to  feel  happier  than  I  now 


898  SANDEES'    NEW    SERIES. 


do.  Really  my  heart  is  brc  ken,"  and  she  burst  into  a  pas- 
sion of  tears.  Mrs.  Westbury  attempted  to  soothe  her,  and 
then  said :  "  Forgive  me,  if  I  wound,  when  I  would  only  heal. 
You  have  been  a  little  imprudent,  and  must  retrace  your  steps 
by  conforming  to  the  taste  of  your  husband.  He  does  not 
like  crowds,  and  you  must,  in  part,  relinquish  them  for  his 
sake." 

27.  "And  is  not  that  hard"?"  said  Mrs.  Cunningham. 
"  Why  should  he  not  conform  to  my  taste,  as  well  as  /to  his? 
Why  must  men  always  have  their  own  way  T 

28.  "  That  point  it  is  not  worth  while  to  discuss,"  said  Mrs. 
Westbury.  "  Your  happiness,  my  friend,  is  at  stake.  Can 
you  hesitate  an  instant  which  to  relinquish,  these  pleasures, 
which,  after  all,  are  so  unsatisfying,  or  the  approbation,  the 
happiness,  perhaps,  the  heart  even  of  your  husband  1" 

29.  "  But  why,"  persisted  Mrs.  Cunningham,  "  need  he  be 
so  obstinate  1  You  see  he  could  go  out  and  stay  till  two  in 
the  morning !  It  seems  as  if  be  did  it  on  purpose  to  torment 
me ;"  and  she  again  burst  into  tears. 

30.  "I  have  not  the  least  doubt,"  said  Mrs.  Westbury, 
*'  that  would  you  yield  to  Mr.  Cunningham's  wishes, — would 
you  let  him  see,  that  you  care  more  about  pleasing  him  than 
yourself,  he  would  cheerfully,  and  frequently,  perhaps,  accom- 
modate himself  to  your  taste.  Few  men  will  bear  being 
driven,  and  they  would  be  objects  of  our  contempt  if  they 
would ;  for  authority  is  divinely  delegated  to  them ;  but  almost 
any  man  would  have  generosity  enough  to  take  pleasure  in 
gratifying  the  wife  who  evidently  strives  to  meet  his  wishes, 
and  is  willing  to  sacrifice  her  own  pleasures,  that  she  may 
promote  his  happiness." 

31.  "But  I  can't  see,"  said  Mrs.  Cunningham,  "  why  my 
nappiness  is  not  of  as  much  consequence  as  my  husband's  ; 
I  can't  see  why  all  the  sacrifice  should  be  on  my  side." 

32.  "  Do  you  not  perceive,"  said  Mrs.  Westbury,  "  that  the 
sacrifices  you  make,  are  made  to  secure  your  happiness,  and 
not  to  destroy  it  V 


YOUNG    LADIES'  READER.  899 

33.  "  I  don't  know,"  said  Mrs.  Cunningham.  "  I  can't  bear 
to  have  Edward  think  to  manage  me  as  he  would  a  little  child, 
and  then  punish  me  as  he  did  last  night,  if  I  don't  do  just  as 
he  says.  I  don't  think  it  fair.  And  I  don't  know  as  it  would 
he  of  any  avail,  should  I  follow  your  advice.  Some  mer 
will  he  ugly,  do  what  you  will !  and  why  should  you  under- 
stand managing  the  men  better  than  I  do  ?  You  are  two  or 
three  years  younger ! 

34.  "I  never  studied  how  to  manage  them,"  said  Mrs. 
Westbury,  "  but  I  have  thought  a  good  deal  on  the  best  way 
of  securing  domestic  happiness  ;  and  reason,  observation,  and 
the  word  of  God  teach  me,  that  would  the  wife  be  happy  and 
beloved,  she  must  be  in  subjection  to  her  own  husband.  He 
may  not  always  be  reasonable,  but  she  can  not  'usurp  au- 
thority,' without  at  once  warring  against  Heaven  and  her  own 
peace  and  respectability. 

35.  "  Think  of  it,  my  dear  Mrs.  Cunningham ;  ruminate 
upon  it ;  and  in  your  decision  be  careful  not  to  let  will  influ- 
ence you  to  sacrifice  a  greater  good  for  a  less.  It  is  not  de- 
grading for  a  wife  to  submit  to  her  husband.  On  the  con- 
trary, she  never  appears  more  lovely  than,  when  cheerfully  and 
gracefully  yielding  up  her  own  wishes,  that  she  may  comply 
with  his.  Women  were  not  made  to  rule ;  and,  in  my  view, 
the  wife  who  attempts  to  govern,  and  the  husband  who  sub- 
mits to  be  governed,  are  equally  contemptible." 

36.  "  What  an  admirable  wife  you  would  be  for  a  tyrant !" 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Cunningham.  "  I  never  heard  the  doctrine 
of  passive  obedience  more  strenuously  inculcated.  Indeed, 
you  would  make  a  tyrant  of  any  man !" 

37.  "  If  any  thing  would  disarm  the  tyrant,"  said  Mrs. 
Westbury,  "  I  think  this  passive  obedience  would  do  it,  if  at 
the  same  time,  it  were  a  cheerful  obedience.  But  happily, 
you  have  no  tyrant  to  disarm.  Your  husband,  I  am  isatis- 
fied,  would  be  easily  pleased.  Try,  my  friend,  for  a  little 
while,  to  yield  to  him,  and  see,  if  you  do  not  meet  a  rich 
reward." 


400  SANDERS'  NEW    SERIES. 

38.  "Well,  I  will  think  of  it,"  said  Mrs.  Cunningham,  "  and, 
perhaps,  shall  do  as  you  advise ;  for  really  I  am  wretched 
now.  O  dear,  I  do  wish  the  men  were  not  so  obstinate !  so 
overbearing !  so  selfish  !" 

Questions. — 1.  On  what  principle  are  he,  I,  my,  and  his,  emphatic, 
twenty-seventh  paragraph  ?  See  Note  VII.,  page  22.  2.  "What  kind 
of  emphasis  on  will,  thirty-fifth  paragraph  ?     See  Note  VI.,  page  21 


EXERCISE    CXXXVIII. 
FOREST  TREES. 

WASHINGTON   iRVINO. 

1.  I  am  fond  of  listening  to  the  conversation  of  English 
gentlemen  on  rural  concerns,  and  of  noticing  with  what  taste 
and  discrimination,  and  what  strong,  unaflfected  interest,  they 
will  discuss  topics,  which,  in  other  countries,  are  abandoned  to 
mere  woodmen,  or  rustic  cultivators.  I  have  heard  a  noble 
earl  descant  on  park  and  forest  scenery,  with  the  science  and 
feeling  of  a  painter. 

2.  He  dwelt  on  the  shape  and  beauty  of  particular  trees  on 
his  estate,  with  as  much  pride  and  technical  precision,  as 
though  he  had  been  discussing  the  merits  of  statues  in  his  col- 
lection. I  found  that  he  had  gone  considerable  distances  to 
examine  trees  which  were  celebrated  among  rural  amateurs  ; 
for  it  seems  that  trees,  like  horses,  have  their  established 
points  of  excellence,  and  that  there  are  some  in  England, 
which  enjoy  very  extensive  celebrity  from  being  perfect  in 
their  kind. 

3.  There  is  something  nobly  simple  and  pure  in  such  a 
taste.  It  argues,  I  think,  a  sweet  and  generous  nature,  to  have 
this  strong  relish  for  the  beauties  of  vegetation,  and  this 
friendship  for  the  hardy  and  glorious  sons  of  the  forest. 
There  is  a  grandeur  of  thought  connected  with  this  part  of 
rural  economy.     It  is,  if  I  may  be  allowed  the  figure,  the 


YOUNG     LADIES'     READER.  401 

heroic  line  of  husbandry.     It  is  worthy  of  liberal,  and  free- 
born,  and  aspiring  men. 

4.  He  who  plants  an  oak, looks  forward  to  future  ages,  and 
plants  for  posterity.  Nothing  can  be  less  selfish  than  this. 
He  can  not  expect  to  sit  in  its  shade,  nor  enjoy  its  shelter ; 
but  he  exults  in  the  idea,  that  the  acorn  which  he  has  buried 
in  the  earth,  will  grow  up  into  a  lofty  pile,  and  shall  keep  on 
flourishing,  and  increasing,  and  benefiting  mankind,  long  after 
he  shall  have  ceased  to  tread  his  paternal  fields. 

5.  Indeed,  it  is  the  nature  of  such  occupations,  to  lift  the 
thoughts  above  mere  worldliness.  As  the  leaves  of  trees  are 
said  to  absorb  all  noxious  qualities  of  the  air,  and  breathe 
forth  a  purer  atmosphere,  so  it  seems  to  me  as  if  they  drew 
from  us  all  sordid  and  angry  passions,  and  breathed  forth 
peace  and  philanthropy. 

6.  There  is  a  serene  and  settled  majesty  in  woodland 
scenery,  that  enters  into  the  soul,  and  dilates  and  elevates  it, 
and  fills  it  with  noble  inclinations.  The  ancient  and  heredi- 
tary groves,  too,  that  embower  this  island,  are  most  of  them 
full  of  story.  They  are  haui^ted  by  the  recollections  of  the 
great  spirits  of  past  ages,  who  have  sought  for  relaxation 
among  them,  from  the  tumult  of  arms,  or  the  toils  of  state, 
or  have  wooed  the  muse  beneath  their  shade. 

7.  It  is  becoming,  then,  for  the  high  and  generous  spirits 
of  an  ancient  nation,  to  cherish  these  sacred  groves  that  sur- 
round their  ancestral  mansions,  and  to  perpetuate  them  to 
their  descendants.  Brought  up,  as  I  have  been,  in  republican 
habits  and  principles,  I  can  feel  nothing  of  the  servile  rever- 
ence for  titled  rank,  merely  because  it  is  titled.  But  I  trust  I 
am  neither  churl  nor  bigot  in  my  creed.  I  do  see  and  feel 
how  hereditary  distinction,  when  it  falls  to  the  lot  of  a  gener» 
ous  mind,  may  elevate  that  mind  into  true  nobility. 

8.  It  is  one  of  the  effects  of  hereditary  rank,  when  it  falls 
thus  happily,  that  it  multiplies  the  duties,  and,  as  it  were,  ex- 
tends the  existence  of  the  possessor.  He  does  not  feel  him- 
self a  mere  individual  link  in  creation,  responsible  only  for 


402  SANDEKS'    NEW    SEEIES. 

his  own  brief  term  of  being.  He  carries  back  his  existenc-e 
in  proud  recollection,  and  he  extends  it  forward  in  honorable 
anticipation.  He  lives  with  his  ancestry,  and  he  lives  with 
his  posterity.  To  both  does  he  consider  himself  involved  in 
deep  responsibilities.  As  he  has  received  much  from  those 
that  have  gone  before,  so  he  feels  bound  to  transmit  much  to 
those  who  are  to  come  after  him. 

9.  His  domestic  undertakings  seem  to  imply  a  longer  ex- 
istence than  those  of  ordinary  men.  None  are  so  apt  to  build 
and  plant  for  future  centuries,  as  noble-spirited  men  who  have 
received  their  heritages  from  foregoing  ages.  I  can  easily 
imagine,  therefore,  the  fondness  and  pride  with  which  I  have 
noticed  English  gentlemen,  of  generous  temperaments,  and 
high  aristocratic  feelings,  contemplating  those  magnificent 
trees,  which  rise  like  towers  ^d  pyramids  from  the  midst  of 
their  paternal  lands.  There  is  an  affinity  between  all  natures, 
animate  and  inanimate.  The  oak,  in  the  pride  and  lustihood 
of  its  growth,  seems  to  me  to  take  its  range  with  the  lion  and 
the  eagle,  and  to  assimilate,  in  the  grandeur  of  its  attributes, 
to  heroic  and  intellectual  man. 

10.  With  its  mighty  pillar  rising  straight  and  direct  toward 
heaven ;  bearing  up  its  leafy  honors  from  the  impurities  of 
earth,  and  supporting  them  aloft  in  free  air  and  glorious  sun- 
shine, it  is  an  emblem  of  what  a  true  nobleman  should  he  ;  a 
refuge  for  the  weak, — a  shelter  for  the  oppressed, — a  defense 
for  the  defenseless  ;  warding  off  from  them  the  peltings  of  the 
storm,  or  the  scorching  rays  of  arbitrary  power.  He  who  is 
this,  is  an  ornament  and  a  blessing  to  his  native  land.  He 
who  is  otherwise,  abuses  his  eminent  advantages, — abuses  the 
grandeur  and  prosperity  which  he  has  drawn  from  the  bosom 
of  his  country.  Should  tempests  arise,  and  he  be  laid  pros- 
trate by  the  storm,  who  would  mourn  over  his  fall  1  Should 
he  be  borne  down  by  the  oppressive  hand .  of  power,  who 
would  murmur  at  his  fate  1  "  Why  cumbereth  he  the 
ground  ?" 


YOUNa    LADIES'   READER.  408 


EXERCISE  CXXXIX. 
ENJOYMENT  OF  THE  PRESENT   HOUR  RECOMMENDED. 

DRYDEN 

I .  Enjoy  the  present  smiling  hour, 

And  put  it  out  of  Fortune's  power  : 
The  tide  of  business,  like  the  running  stream, 
Is  sometimes  high  and  sometimes  low, 
And  always  in  extreme. 
Now  with  a  noiseless,  gentle  course, 
It  keeps  within  the  middle  bed  ; 
Anon  it  lifts  aloft  the  head, 
And  bears  down  all  before  it  with  impetuous  force  ; 
And  trunks  of  trees  come  rolling  down  ; 
Sheep  and  their  folds  together  drown ; 
Both  house  and  homestead  into  seas  are  borne  ; 
And  rocks  are  from  their  old  foundations  torn ; 
And  woods,  made  thin  with  winds,  their  scattered  hor.ors 


Happy  the  man,  and  happy  he  alone, 
He  who  can  call  to-day  his  own  : 
He  who,  secure  within,  can  say. 
To-morrow  do  thy  worst,  for  I  have  lived  to  day. 

Be  fair  or  foul,  or  rain,  or  shine, 
The  joys  I  have  possessed,  in  spite  of  fate,  are  mine. 

Not  Heaven  itself  upon  the  past  has  power  ; 
But  what  has  been,  has  been,  and  I  have  had  my  hour. 
Fortune,  that  with  malicious  joy 
Does  man,  her  slave,  oppress. 
Proud  of  her  office  to  destroy, 
Is  seldom  pleased  tc  bless  : 
Still  various,  and  inconstant  still. 
But  with  an  inclination  to  be  ill, 

Promotes,  degrades,  delights  in  strife, 
And  makes  a  lottery  of  life. 


404:  SANDEES'     NEW     SERIES. 

I  can  enjoy  her  while  she 's  kind ; 
But  when  she  dances  in  the  wind, 

And  shakes  her  wings,  and  will  not  stay, 

I  puff  the  prostitute  away  : 
The  little  or  the  much  she  gave  is  quietly  resigned : 

Content  with  poverty,  my  soul  I  arm  ; 

And  virtue,  though  in  rags,  will  keep  me  warm. 

3.  What  is 't  to  me. 

Who  never  sail  in  her  unfaithful  sea. 
If  storms  arise,  and  clouds  grow  black  ; 
If  the  mast  split,  and  threaten  wreck  1 
Then  let  the  greedy  merchant  fear 

For  his  ill-gotten  gain  ; 
And  pray  to  gods  that  will  not  hear. 
While  the  debating  winds  and  billows  bear 

His  wealth  into  the  main. 
For  me,  secure  from  Fortune's  blows, 
Secure  of  what  I  can  not  lose. 
In  my  small  pinnace  I  can  sail. 
Contemning  all  the  blustering  roar : 

And  running  with  a  merry  gale, 
With  friendly  stars  my  safety  seek. 
Within  some  little  winding  creek, 

And  see  the  storm  ashore. 


EXERCISE    CXL. 
THE   RAINBOW. 

AMTZT.TA    B.    WXLB1 

1.  I  sometimes  have  thought,  in  my  loneliest  hours. 
That  lie  on  my  heart  like  the  dew  on  the  flowers, 
Of  a  ramble  I  took,  one  bright  afternoon, 
When  my  heart  was  as  light  as  a  blossom  in  June. 


YOUNG     LADIES'  KEADER.  405 

The  green  earth  was  moist  with  the  late-fallen  showers, 
The  breeze  fluttered  down  and  =blew  open  the  flowers  ; 
While  a  single  white  cloud  floated  off"  in  the  west, 
On  the  white  wing  of  peace,  to  its  haven  of  rest. 

2.  As  I  threw  back  my  tresses  to  catch  the  cool  breeze, 
That  scattered  the  rain -drops  and  dimpled  the  seas. 
Far  up  the  blue  sky  a  fair  rainbow  unrolled 

Its  soft-tinted  pinions  of  purple  and  gold. 

'Twas  born  in  a  moment ;  yet,  quick  as  its  birth. 

It  was  stretched  to  the  uttermost  ends  of  the  earth  ; 

And,  fair  as  an  angel,  it  floated  as  free. 

With  a  wing  on  the  earth,  and  a  wing  on  the  sea. 

3.  How  calm  was  the  ocean !  how  gentle  its  swell ! 
Like  a  woman's  soft  bosom,  it  rose  and  it  fell ; 

While  its  light  sparkling  waves,  stealing  laughingly  o'er, 
When  they  saw  the  fair  rainbow  knelt  down  on  the  shore. 
No  sweet  hymn  ascended,  no  murmur  of  prayer. 
Yet  I  felt  that  the  spirit  of  worship  was  there  ; 
And  I  bent  my  young  head  in  devotion  and  love, 
'Neath  the  form  of  the  angel  that  floated  above. 

4.  How  wide  was  the  sweep  of  its  beautiful  wings  ! 
How  boundless  its  circle  !  how  radiant  its  rings  ! 
If  I  looked  on  the  sky,  't  was  suspended  in  air. 
If  I  looked  on  the  ocean,  the  rainbow  was  there ; 
Thus  forming  a  girdle,  as  brilliant  and  whole. 

As  the  thoughts  of  the  rainbow  that  circled  my  soul. 
Like  the  wings  of  the  Deity,  calmly  unfurled, 
It  bent  from  the  cloud  and  encircled  the  world. 

5.  There  are  moments,  I  think,  when  the  spirit  receives 
Whole  volumes  of  thought  on  its  unwritten  leaves ; 
When  the  ft)lds  of  the  heart  in  a  iQoment  unclose. 
Like  the  innermost  leaves  from  the  heart  of  a  rose  ; 


406  SANDERS'    NEW    SERIES. 


And  thus,  when  the  rainbow  had  passed  in  the  sky, 
The  thoughts  it  awoke  were  too  deep  to  pass  by  ; 
It  left  my  full  heart,  like  the  wing  of  a  dove. 
All  fluttering  with  pleasure,  and  fluttering  with  love. 

6. 1  know  that  each  moment  of  rapture  or  pain, 
But  shortens  the  links  of  life's  mystical  chain  : 
I  know  that  my  form,  like  that  bow  from  the  wave, 
Must  pass  from  the  earth,  and  lie  cold  in  the  grave  : 
Yet  O  !  when  Death's  shadows  my  bosom  encloud, 
When  I  shrink  at  the  thought  of  the  coffin  and  shroud, 
May  hope,  like  the  rainbow,  my  spirit  enfold 
In  her  beautiful  pinions  of  purple  and  gold  ! 


EXERCISE    CXLI. 

[The  following  piece  is  well  adapted  for  reading  in  concert.'] 

THE   LIGHT-HOUSE. 

THOHAS   MOOBX. 

The  scene  was  more  beautiful  far  to  my  eye 

Than  if  day  in  its  pride  had  arrayed  it ; 
The  land-breeze  blew  mild,  and  the  azure-arched  sky 

Looked  pure  as  the  Spirit  that  made  it. 
The  murmur  rose  soft  as  I  silently  gazed 

On  the  shadowy  wave's  playful  motion. 
From  the  dim  distant  hill,  till  the  Light-house  fire  blazed^ 

Like  a  star  in  the  midst  of  the  ocean. 

No  longer  the  joy  in  the  sailor-boy's  breast, 
Was  heard  in  his  wildly-breathed  numbers  ; 

The  sea-bird  had  flown  to  her  wave-girded  nest, 
TTie  fisherman  sunk  to  his  slumbers  : 

One  moment  I  looked  from  the  hill's  gentle  «lope, 
All  hushed  was  the  billows'  commotion ; 


YOUNG     LADIES'    READER.  407 

And  thought  that  the  Light-house  looked  lovely  as  Hope, 
That  star  of  life's  tremulous  ocean. 

8.  The  time  is  long  past,  and  the  scene  is  afar, 

Yet,  when  my  head  rests  on  its  pillow, 
Will  memory  sometimes  rekindle  the  star 

That  blazed  on  the  breast  of  the  billow. 
In  life's  closing  hour,  when  the  trembling  soul  flies, 

And  Death  stills  the  heart's  last  emotion  ; 
0,  then  may  the  seraph  of  mercy  arise, 

Like  a  star  on  eternity's  ocean. 


EXERCISE   CXLII 

SOLID   IMPROVEMENT,— THE  TRUE  END  OF  FEMALE 
EDUCATION. 

SYDNEY   SMITH. 

1.  If  the  objections  against  the  better  education  of  women 
could  be  overruled,  one  of  the  great  advantages  that  would 
ensue,  would  be  the  extinction  of  innumerable  follies.  A 
decided  and  prevailing  taste  for  one  or  another  mode  of  edu- 
cation there  must  be.  A  century  past,  it  was  for  housewife- 
ry,— now  it  is  for  accomplishments.  The  object  now  is,  to 
make  women  artists, — to  give  them  an  excellence  in  drawing, 
music,  painting,  and  dancing, — of  which,  persons  who  make 
these  pursuits  the  occupation  of  their  lives,  and  derive  from 
them  their  subsistence,  need  not  be  ashamed. 

2.  Now,  one  great  evil  of  this  is,  that  it  does  not  last.  If 
the  whole  of  life  were  an  Olympic  game, — if  we  could  go  on 
feasting  and  dancing  to  the  end, — this  might  do  ;  but  it  is  in 
truth  merely  a  provision  for  the  little  interval  between  coming 
into  life,  and  settling  in  it ;  while  it  leaves  a  long  and  dreary 
expanse  behind,  devoid  both  of  dignity  and  cheerfulness.  No 
mother,  no  woman  who  has  passed  over  the  few  first  years  of 
life,  sings,  or  dances,  or  draws,  or  plays  upon  musical  instru- 
ments.    Those  are  merely  means  for  displaying  the  grace  and 


4:08  SANDERS'  NEW    SERIES. 

vivacity  of  youth,  which  every  woman  gives  up,  as  she  gives 
up  the  dress  and  manners  of  eighteen ;  she  has  no  wish  to 
retain  them,  or  if  she  has,  she  is  driven  out  of  them  by  di- 
ameter and  derision. 

3.  The  system  of  female  education,  as  it  now  stands,  aims 
only  at  embellishing  a  few  years  of  life,  which  are  in  them- 
selves so  full  of  grace  and  happiness,  that  they  hardly  want 
it ;  and  then  leaves  the  rest  of  existence  a  miserable  prey  to 
idle  insignificance.  No  woman  of  understanding  and  reflec- 
tion can  possibly  conceive  she  is  doing  justice  to  her  children 
by  such  kind  of  education.  The  object  is,  to  give  to  children 
resources  that  will  endure  as  long  as  life  endures, — habits  that 
time  will  ameliorate,  not  destroy, — occupations  that  will  ren- 
der sickness  tolerable,  solitude  pleasant,  age  venerable,  life 
more  dignified  and  useful,  and,  therefore,  death  less  terrible : 
and  the  compensation  which  is  offered  for  the  omission  of  all 
this,  is  a  short-lived  blaze, — a  little  temporary  effect,  which 
has  no  other  consequence  than  to  deprive  the  remainder  of 
life  of  all  taste  and  relish. 

4.  There  may  be  women  who  have  a  taste  for  the  fine  arts, 
and  who  evince  a  decided  talent  for  drawing,  or  for  music.  In 
that  case,  there  can  be  no  objection  to  the  cultivation  of  these 
arts.  But  the  error  is,  to  make  such  things  the  grand  and  uni- 
versal object, — to  insist  upon  it  that  every  woman  is  to  sing, 
and  draw  and  dance, — with  nature  or  against  nature, — to  bind 
her  apprentice  to  some  accomplishment,  and,  if  she  can  not 
succeed  in  oil  or  water-colors,  to  prefer  gilding,  varnishing, 
burnishing,  box-making,  to  real  solid  improvement  in  taste, 
knowledge,  and  understanding. 

5.  A  great  deal  is  said  in  favor  of  the  social  nature  of  the 
fine  arts.  Music'  gives  pleasure  to  others.  Drawing  is  an 
art,  the  amusement  of  which  does  not  center  in  him  who  ex 
ercises  it,  but  is  diffused  among  the  rest  of  the  world.  This 
is  true  ;  but  there  is  nothing,  after  all,  so  social  as  a  cultivated 
mind.  "We  do  not  mean  to  speak  slightingly  of  the  fine  arts, 
•^r  to  depreciate  the  good-humor  with  which  they  are  some- 


YOUNG     LADIES'    EEADEK.  409 

times  exhibited ;  but  we  appeal  to  any  man,  whether  a  little 
spirited  and  sensible  conversation — displaying,  modestly,  use- 
ful acquirements,  and  evincing  rational  curiosity — is  not  well 
worth  the  highest  exertions  of  musical  or  graphical  skill. 

6.  A  woman  of  accomplishments  may  entertain  those  who 
have  the  pleasure  of  knowing  her  for  half  an  hour  with  great 
brilliancy ;  but  a  mind  full  of  ideas,  and  with  that  elastic 
spring  which  the  love  of  knowledge  only  can  convey,  is  a  per- 
petual source  of  exhilaration  and  amusement  to  all  that  come 
within  its  reach  ; — not  collecting  its  force  into  single  and  in- 
sulated achievements,  like  the  effort  made  in  the  fine  arts, — 
but  diffusing  equally  over  the  whole  of  existence,  a  calm 
pleasure,  better  loved  as  it  is  longer  felt,  and  suitable  to  every 
variety  and  every  period  of  life.  Therefore,  instead  of  hang- 
ing the  understanding  of  a  woman  upon  walls,  or  hearing  it 
vibrate  upon  strings,  instead  of  seeing  it  in  clouds,  or  hearing 
it  in  the  wind,  we  would  make  it  the  first  spring  and  orna- 
ment of  society,  by  enriching  it  with  attainments,  upon  which 
alone  such  power  depends. 

7.  If  the  education  of  women  were  improved,  the  educa- 
tion of  men  would  be  improved  also.  Let  any  one  consider, 
(in  order  to  bring  the  matter  more  home  by  an  individual  in 
stance,)  of  what  immense  importance  to  society  it  is,  whether 
a  nobleman  of  first-rate  fortune  and  distinction  is  well  or  ill 
brought  up ;  what  a  taste  and  passion  he  may  inspire  for  private 
and  for  political  vice  ?  and  what  misery  and  mischief  he  may 
produce  to  the  thousand  human  beings  who  are  dependent  on 
him  !  A  country  contains  no  such  curse  within  its  bosom. 
Youth,  wealth,  high  rank,  and  vice,  form  a  combination  which 
baffles  all  remonstrance  and  beats  down  all  opposition.  A 
man  of  high  rank,  who  combines  these  qualifications  for  cor- 
ruption, is  almost  the  master  of  the  manners  of  the  age,  and 
has  the  public  happiness  within  his  grasp. 

8.  But  the  most  beautiful  possession  which  a  country  can 
have,  is  a  noble  and  rich  man,  who  loves  virtue  and  knowl- 
edge :  who,  without  being  feeble  or  fanatical,  is  pious,  and 

18 


410  SANDEKS'    NEW     SERIES. 

who,  without  being  factious,  is  firm  and  independent ;  who,  in 
his  political  life,  is  an  equitable  mediator  between  king  and 
people  ;  and,  in  his  civil  life,  a  firm  promoter  of  all  which  can 
shed  a  luster  upon  his  country,  or  promote  the  peace  and 
order  of  the  world.  But,  if  these  objects  are  of  the  importance 
which  we  attribute  to  them,  the  education  of  women  must  be 
important,  as  the  formation  of  character,  for  the  first  seven  or 
eight  years  of  life,  seems  to  depend  almost  entirely  upon  them. 
9.  It  is  certainly  in  the  power  of  a  sensible  and  well-edu- 
cated mother  to  inspire,  within  that  period,  such  tastes  and 
propensities  as  shall  nearly  decide  the  destiny  of  the  future 
man ;  and  this  is  done,  not  only  by  the  intentional  exertions 
of  the  mother,  but  by  the  gradual  and  insensible  imitation  of 
the  child;  for  there  is  something  extremely  contagious  in 
greatness  and  rectitude  of  thinking,  even  at  that  age ;  and 
the  character  of  the  mother  with  whom  he  passes  his  early 
infancy,  is  always  an  event  of  the  utmost  importance  to  the 
child.  A  merely  accomplished  woman  can  not  infuse  her 
tastes  into  the  minds  of  her  sons  ;  and,  if  she  could,  nothing 
Qould  be  more  unfortunate  than  her  success. 

10.  Besides,  when  her  accomplishments  are  given  up,  she 
has  nothing  left  for  it  but  to  amuse  herself  in  the  best  way 
she  can ;  and,  becoming  entirely  frivolous,  either  declines  al- 
together the  fatigue  of  attending  to  her  children,  or,  attending 
to  them,  has  neither  talents  nor  knowledge  to  succeed;  and, 
therefore,  here  is  a  plain  and  fair  answer  to  those  who  ask  so 
triumphantly,  why  should  a  woman  dedicate  herself  to  this 
branch  of  knowledge,  or  why  she  should  be  attached  to  such 
science?  Because,  by  having  gained  information  on  these 
points,  she  may  inspire  her  son  with  valuable  tastes,  which 
may  abide  by  him  through  life,  and  carry  him  up  to  all  the 
sublimities  of  knowledge ;  because  she  can  not  lay  the  foun- 
dation of  a  great  character,  if  she  is  absorbed  in  frivolous 
amusements,  nor  inspire  her  child  with  noble  desires,  when  a 
long  course  of  trifling  has  destroyed  the  little  talents  which 
were  left  by  a  bad  education. 


YQUKG    LADIES'  READBK'.  411 


EXERCISE    CXLIII. 

RANK   AND   RICHES   NOT  ESSENTIAL   TO   TASTE   AND 
GENIUS. 

THOMAS    CAKLTLB. 

1.  Taste,  if  it  mean  any  thing  but  a  paltry  connoisseurship, 
must  mean  a  general  susceptibility  to  truth  and  nobleness ;  a 
sense  to  discern,  and  a  heart  to  love  and  reverence  all 
beauty,  order,  goodness,  wheresoever,  or  in  whatsoever  forms 
and  accompaniments,  they  are  to  be  seen.  This  surely  im- 
plies, as  its  chief  condition,  not  any  given  external  rank  or  sit- 
uation, but  a  finely-gifted  mind,  purified  into  harmony  with 
itself,  into  keenness  and  justness  of  vision ;  above  all,  kindled 
into  love  and  generous  admiration. 

2.  Is  culture  of  this  sort  found  exclusively  among  the  high- 
er ranks  ?  We  believe  it  proceeds  less  from  without  than 
within,  in  every  rank.  The  charms  of  Nature,  the  majesty 
of  Man,  the  infinite  loveliness  of  Truth  and  Virtue,  are  not 
hidden  from  the  eye  of  the  poor ;  but  from  the  eye  of  the 
vain,  the  corrupted,  and  self-seeking,  be  he  poor,  or  rich.  In 
all  ages,  the  humble  minstrel,  a  mendicant,  and  lord  of  no- 
thing but  his  harp  and  his  own  free  soul,  had  intimations  of 
those  glories,  while  to  the  proud  baron  in  his  barbaric  halls 
they  were  unknown. 

3.  Such  is  our  hypothesis  of  the  case.  But  how  stands  it 
with  the  facts  1  Are  the  fineness  and  truth  of  sense  manifest- 
ed by  the  artist,  found,  in  most  instances,  to  be  proportionate 
to  his  wealth  and  elevation  of  acquaintance  ]  Are  they  found 
to  have  any  perceptible  relation  either  with  the  one  or  the 
other  1  We  imagine  ndt.  Whose  taste  in  painting,  for  in- 
stance, is  truer  or  finer  than  Claude  Lorraine's  1  And  was 
not  he  a  poor  color-grinder  ;  outwardly,  the  meanest  of  me- 
nials 1 

4.  Where,  again,  we  might  ask,  lay  Shakspeare's  rent-roll ; 
and  what  generous  peer  took  him  by  the  hand,  and  unfolded 
to  him  the  "  open  secret"  of  the  Universe ;  teaching  him,  that 


412  SANDEKS'     NEW     SEKIES. 

this  was  beautiful,  and  that  not  so  ?  Was  he  not  a  peasant 
by  birth,  and  by  fortune  something  l&wer ;  and  was  it  not 
thought  much,  even  in  the  hight  of  his  reputation,  that  South- 
ampton allowed  him  equal  patronage  with  the  zanies,  jugglers, 
and  bearwards  of  the  time  1 

5.  Yet  compare  his  taste,  even  as  it  respects  the  negative 
side  of  things  ;  for,  in  regard  to  the  positive  and  far  higher 
side,  it  admits  no  comparison  with  any  other  mortal's — com- 
pare it,  for  instance,  with  the  taste  of  Beaumont  and  Fletcher, 
his  cotemporaries,  men  of  rank  and  education,  and  of  fine 
genius  like  himself.  Tried  even  by  the  nice,  fastidious,  and, 
in  great  part,  false  and  artificial  delicacy  of  modern  times, 
how  stands  it  with  the  two  parties  ;  with  the  gay,  triumphant 
men  of  fashion,  and  the  poor  vagrant  link-boy  ?  Does  the 
latter  sin  against,  we  shall  not  say  taste,  but  etiquette,  as  the 
former  d6  1 

6.  For  one  line,  for  one  word,  which  some  Chesterfield 
might  wish  blotted  from  the  first,  are  there  not,  in  the  others, 
whole  pages  and  scenes  which,  with  palpitating  heart,  he 
would  hurry  into  deepest  night  ?  This,  too,  observe,  respects 
not  their  genius,  but  their  culture ;  not  their  appropriation 
of  beauties,  but  their  rejection  of  deformities,  by  suppo- 
sition, the  grand  and  peculiar  result  of  high  breeding ! 
Surely,  in  such  instances,  even  that  humble  supposition  is  ill 
borne  out. 

7.  The  truth  of  the  matter  seems  to  be,  that,  with  the  cul- 
ture of  a  genuine  poet,  thinker,  or  other  aspirant  to  fame,  the 
influence  of  rank  has  no  exclusive,  or  even  special  concern. 
For  men  of  action,  for  senators,  public  speakers,  political 
writers,  the  case  may  be  different ;  but  of  such  we  speak  not 
at  present.  Neither  do  we  speak  of  imitators,  and  the  crowd 
of  mediocre  men,  to  whom  fashionable  life  sometimes  gives 
an  external  inoffensiveness,  often  compensated  by  a  frigid  ma- 
lignity of  character. 

8.  We  speak  of  men  who,  from  amid  the  perplexed  and 
conflicting  elements  of  their  every-day  existence,  are  to  form 


YOUNG    LADIES'    READEK.  418 

themselves  into  harmony  and  wisdom,  and  show  forth  the 
same  wisdom  to  others  that  exist  along  with  them.  To  such 
a  man,  high  life,  as  it  is  called,  will  be  a  province  of  human 
life  certainly,  but  nothing  more.  He  will  study  to  deal  with 
it  as  he  deals  with  all  forms  of  mortal  being  ;  to  do  it  justice, 
and  to  draw  instruction  from  it,  but  the  light  will  come  from 
a  loftier  region,  or  he  wanders  forever  in  darkness. 

9.  Is  he  poor  ?  So  also  were  Homer  and  S6crates  ;  so  was 
Samuel  Johnson ;  so  was  John  Milton.  Shall  we  reproach 
him  with  his  poverty,  and  infer  that,  because  he  is  poor,  he 
must  likewise  be  worthless?  God  forbid  that  the  time 
should  ever  come,  when  he,  too,  shall  esteem  riches  the 
synonym  of  good  !  The  spirit  of  Mammon  has  a  wide  em- 
pire ;  but  it  can  not,  and  must  not,  be  worshiped  in  the  Holy 
of  Holies. 

10.  Nay,  does  not  the  heart  of  every  genuine  disciple  of 
literature,  however  mean  his  sphere,  instinctively  deny  this 
principle,  as  applicable  either  to  himself  or  another  ?  Is  it 
not  rather  true,  as  D'Alembert  has  said,  that  for  every  man 
of  letters,  who  deserves  that  name,  the  motto  and  the  watch- 
word will  be  Freedom,  Truth,  and  even  this  same  Poverty  ? 
and  that,  if  he  fear  the  last,  the  two  first  can  never  be  made 
sure  to  him  *? 

Questions.  —  1.  What  rule  for  the  inflections,  as  marked  in  the 
third  paragraph  ?  2.  Why  the  rising  inflections  in  the  last  para 
graph  ? 


EXE  K  CIS  E    CXLIV. 


THE  LORD   OF  BURLEIGH. 

ALFRED  TXNNTSOK. 

In  her  ear  he  whispers  gayly, 

-'  If  my  heart  by  signs  can  tell. 
Maiden,  I  have  watched  thee  daily. 

And  I  think  thou  lov'st  me  well." 


414  SANDEKS'     NEW     SEEIES. 

She  replies,  in  acM3ents  fainter, 

"  There  is  none  I  love  like  thee !" 
He  is  but  a  landscape-painter, 

And  a  village-maiden  she. 
He  to  lips  that  fondly  falter, 

Presses  his  without  reproof; 
Leads  her  to  the  village  altar, 

And  they  leave  her  father's  roof. 
"  I  can  make  no  marriage-pres^it ; 

Little  can  I  give  my  wife  ; 
Love  will  make  our  cottage  pleasant, 

And  I  love  thee  more  than  life." 

2.     They  by  parks  and  lodges  going, 

See  the  lordly  castles  stand  ; 
Summer  woods,  about  them  blowing, 

Made  a  murmur  in  the  land. 
From  deep  thought  himself  he  rouses, 

Says  to  her  that  loves  him  well: 
"  Let  us  see  these  handsome  houses 

Where  the  wealthy  nobles  dwell." 
So  she  goes,  by  him  attended, 

Hears  him  lovingly  converse. 
Sees  whatever  fair  and  splendid 

Lay  betwixt  Ms  home  and  hers ; 

3.     Parks  with  oak  and  chestnut  shady, 

Parks  and  ordered  gardens  great, 
Ancient  homes  of  lord  and  lady, 

Built  for  pleasure  and  for  state. 
All  he  shows  her  makes  him  dearer : 

Evermore  she  seems  to  gaze 
On  that  cottage  drawing  nearer, 

Where  they  twain  will  spend  their  day?. 
O,  but  she  will  love  him  truly  ! 

He  shall  have  a  cheerful  home  ; 


YOUNG    LADIES'    KEADEE.  416 


She  will  order  all  things  duly, 

When  beneath  his  roof  they  come. 

4.  Thus  her  heart  rejoices  greatly, 

Till  a  gateway  she  discerns, 
With  armorial  bearings  stately. 

And  beneath  the  gate  she  turns  ; 
Sees  a  mansion  more  majestic 

Than  all  those  she  saw  before  ; 
Many  a  gallant  gay  domestic 

Bows  before  him  at  the  door, 
And  they  speak  in  gentle  murmur, 

When  they  answer  to  his  call. 
While  he  treads  with  footsteps  firmer. 

Leading  on  from  hall  to  hall : 
And,  while  now  she  wanders  blindly, 

Nor  the  meaning  can  divine. 
Proudly  turns  he  round  and  kindly : 

"  All  of  this  is  mine  and  thine  !" 

5.  Here  he  lives  in  state  and  bounty, 

Lord  of  Burleigh,  fair  and  free ; 
Not  a  lord  in  all  the  county 

Is  so  great  a  lord  as  he. 
All  at  once  the  color  flushes 

Her  sweet  face  from  brow  to  chin : 
As  it  were  with  shame  she  blushes. 

And  her  spirit  changed  within. 
Then  her  countenance  all  over 

Pale  again  as  death  did  prove  ; 
But  he  clasped  her  like  a  lover. 

And  he  cheered  her  soul  with  love. 

6.  So  she  strove  against  her  weakness. 

Though  at  times  her  spirit  sank  ; 
Shaped  her  heart  with  woman's  meekness 
To  all  duties  of  her  rank ; 


416  SANDERS'    NEW    SERIES. 

And  a  gentle  consort  made  he, 
And  her  gentle  mind  was  such, 

That  she  grew  a  noble  lady, 
And  the  people  loved  her  much. 

7.     But  a  trouble  weighed  upon  her. 

And  perplexed  her  night  and  morn, 
With  the  burden  of  an  honor 
Unto  which  she  was  not  born. 
(p.)  Faint  she  grew,  and  ever  fainter. 

As  she  murmured  :  "  Oh,  that  he 
Were  once  more  that  landscape-painter, 
Which  did  win  my  heart  from  me  !" 


EXERCISE  CXLV. 
THE  MAID  OF  THE  I^^^N. 


80UTHET, 

1.  Who  is  she,  the  poor  maniac,  whose  wildly -fixed  eyes 

Seem-  a  heart  overcharged  to  express  1 
She  weeps  not,  yet  often  and  deeply  she  sighs ; 
She  never  complains,  but  her  silence  implies 

The  composure  of  settled  distress. 

2.  No  aid,  no  compassion  the  maniac  will  seek  ; 

Cold  and  hunger  awake  not  her  care ; 
Through  the  rags  do  the  winds  of  the  winter  blow  bleak 
On  her  poor  withered  bosom,  half-bare ;  and  her  cheek 

Has  the  deadly  pale  hue  of  despair. 

3.  Yet  cheerful  and  happy,  nor  distant  the  day, 

Poor  Mary,  the  maniac,  has  been ; 
The  traveler  remembers,  who  journeyed  this  way, 
No  damsel  so  lovely,  no  damsel  so  gay. 

As  Mary,  the  maid  of  the  inn. 


YOUNG     LADIES'     READEB.  417 

4.  Her  cheerful  address  filled  the  guests  with  delight, 

As  she  welcomed  them  in  with  a  smile ; 
Her  heart  was  a  stranger  to  childish  affright, 
And  Mary  would  walk  by  the  abbey  at  night, 

When  the  wind  whistled  down  the  dark  aisle. 

5.  She  loved ;  and  young  Richard  had  settled  the  day, 

And  she  hoped  to  be  happy  for  life ; 
But  Richard  was  idle  and  worthless,  and  they 
Who  knew  her,  would  pity  poor  Mary,  and  say 

That  she  was  too  good  for  his  wife. 

6.  T  was  in  Autumn,  and  stormy  and  dark  was  the  night. 

And  fast  were  the  windows  and  door ; 
Two  guests  sat  enjoying  the  fire  that  burned  brighl, 
And,  smoking  in  silence,  with  tranquil  delight. 

They  listened  to  hear  the  wind  roar. 

.7.  "  'Tis  pleasant,"  cried  one,  "seated  by  the  fireside, 
To  hear  the  wind  whistle  without." 
"  A  fine  night  for  the  abbey,"  his  comrade  replied. 
"  Methinks  a  man's  courage  would  now  be  well  tried 
Who  should  wander  the  ruins  about. 

8.  "  I,  myself,  like  a  schoolboy,  should  tremble  to  hear 
The  hoarse  ivy  shake  over  my  head ; 
And  could  fancy  I  saw,  half-persuaded  by  fear, 
Some  ugly  old  abbot's  white  spirit  appear; 
For  this  wind  might  awaken  the  dead." 

9  "  I  '11  wager  a  dinner,"  the  other  one  cried, 
"  That  Mary  would  venture  there  now." 
"  Then  wager  and  lose,"  with  a  sneer  he  replied , 
"  I  '11  warrant  she'd  fancy  a  ghost  by  her  side, 
And  faint,  if  she  saw  a  white  cow." 
18* 


416  SANDERS'  NEW    SERIES. 


10.  "  Will  Mary  this  charge  on  her  courage  allow  ?" 

His  companion  exclaimed  with  a  smile ; 
*•  I  shall  win ;  for  I  know  she  will  venture  there  now, 
And  earn  a  new  bonnet  by  bringing  a  bough 

From  the  alder  that  grows  in  the  aisle.'*        ^ 

11.  With  fearless  good  humor  did  Mary  comply, 

And  her  way  to  the  abbey  she  bent ; 
The  night  it  was  dark,  and  the  wind  it  was  high, 
And,  as  hollowly  howling,  it  swept  through  the  sky. 

She  shivered  with  cold  as  she  went. 

12.  O'er  the  path,  so  well  known,  still  proceeded  the  maid, 

Where  the  abbey  rose  dim  on  the  sight ; 
Thi€ugh  the  gateway  she  entered,  she  felt  not  afraid. 
Yet  the  ruins  were  lonely  and  wild,  and  their  shade 

Seemed  to  deepen  the  gloom  of  the  night. 

13.  All  around  her  was  silent,  save  when  the  rude  blast 

Howled  dismally  round  the  old  pile  ; 
Over  weed-covered  fragments  still  fearless  she  passed, 
And  arrived  at  the  innermost  ruin  at  last, 

Where  the  alder-tree  grows  in  the. aisle. 

14.  Well  pleased  did  she  reach  it,  and  quickly  drew  near, 

And  hastily  gathered  the  bough, — 
When  the  sound  of  a  voice  seemed  to  rise  on  her  eiu? — 
She  paused,  and  she  listened,  all  eager  to  hear. 

And  her  heart  panted  fearfully  now. 

15.  The  wind  blew ;  the  hoarse  ivy  shook  over  her  head  ;— 

She  listened  ;  naught  else  could  she  hear. 
The  wind  6eased  ;  her  heart  sunk  in  her  bosom  with  dread, 
,   For  she  heard  in  the  ruins — distinctly — the  tread 
Of  footsteps  approaching  her  near. 


YOUNG    LADIES'  READER.  410 


16.  Behind  a  wide  column,  half  breathless  with  fear, 

She  crept  to  conceal  herself  there ; 
That  inst:ant  the  moon  o'er  a  dark  cloud  shone  clear, 
And  she  saw  in  the  moonlight  two  ruffians  appear. 

And  between  them — a  corpse  did  they  bear ! 

17.  Then  Mary  could  feel  her  heart's  blood  curdle  cold! 

Again  the  rough  wind  hurried  by, — 
It  blew  off  the  hat  of  the  one,  and,  behold  ! 
Even  close  to  the  feet  of  poor  Mary  it  roll'd ! — 

She  fell — and  expected  to  die ! 

18.  "  Curse  the  hat !"  he  exclaims;  "Nay,  come,  on  and  first 

The  dead  body,"  his  comrade  replies ; —  [hide 

She  beheld  them  in  safety  pass  on  by  her  side, 
-^She  seizes  the  hat,  fear  her  courage  supplied, 
And  fast  through  the  abbey  she  flies. 

19.  She  ran  with  wild  speed,  she  rushed  in  at  the  door, 

She  gazed  horribly  eager  around  ; 
Then  her  limbs  could  support  their  faint  burden  no  more, 
And  exhausted  and  breathless,  she  sunk  on  the  floor, 

Unable  to  utter  a  sound. 

20.  Ere  yet  her  pale  lips  could  the  story  impart. 

For  a  moment  the  hat  met  her  view  ; — 
Her  eyes  from  that  object  convulsively  start. 
For,  O  God !  what  cold  horror  thrilled  through  her  heart, 

When  the  name  of  her  Richard  she  knew ! 

'■> 

J 

21.  Where  the  old  abbey  stands,  on  the  common  hard  by, 

His  gibbet  is  now  to  be  seen ; 
Not  far  from  the  inn  it  engages  the  eye. 
The  traveler  beholds  it,  and  thinks,  with  a  sigh, 

Of  poor  Mary,  the  maid  of  the  inn. 


420  SANDERS'    NEW    SERIES. 

EXERCISE    CXLVI. 
THE   FEMALE    CONVICT   TO   HER   INFANT. 

DALE. 

1.  Oh,  sleep  not,  my  babe,  for  the  morn  of  to-morrow 

Shall  soothe  me  to  slumber  more  tranquil  than  thine  ; 
The  dark  grave  shall  shield  me  from  shame  and  from  sorrow, 

Though  the  deeds  and  the  gloom  of  the  guilty  are  mine. 
Not  long  shall  the  arm  of  affection  enfold  thee ; 

Not  long  shalt  thou  hang  on  thy  mother's  fond  breast ; 
And  who  with  the  eye  of  delight  shall  behold  thee, 

And  watch  thee,  and  guard  thee,  when  I  am  at  rest  ? 

2.  And  yet  it  doth  grieve  me  to  wake  thee,  my  dearest, 

The  pangs  of  thy  desolate  mother  to  see ; 
Thou  wilt  weep  when  the  clank  of  my  cold  chain  thou  hearest, 

And  none  but  the  guilty  shall  mourn  over  me. 
And  yet  I  must  wake  thee — for  while  thou  art  weeping, 

To  calm  thee,  I  stifle  my  tears  for  awhile  ; 
But  thou  smil'st  in  thy  dreams,  while  thus  placidly  sleeping, 

And,  Oh,  how  it  wounds  me  to  gaze  on  thy  smile  ! 

3.  Alas !  my  sweet  babe,  with  what  pride  had  I  pressed  thee 

To  the  bosom  that  now  throbs  with  terror  and  shame, 
If  the  pure  tie  of  virtuous  affection  had  blessed  thee, 

And  hailed  thee  the  heir  of  thy  father's  high  name ! 
But  now,  with  remorse  that  avails  not,  I  mourn  thee, — 

Forsaken  and  friendless,  as  soon  thou  wilt  be. 
In  a  world,  if  it  can  not  betray,  that  will  scorn  thee — 

Avenging  the  guilt  of  thy  mother  on  thee  I 

4.  And,  when  the  dark  thought'  of  my  fate  shall  awaken       _^ 

The  deep  blush  of  shame  on  thy  innocent  cheek ;         ^^ 
Vhen  by  all  but  the  God  of  the  orphan  forsaken, 
A  home  and  a  father  in  vain  thou  shalt  seek  ; 


YOUNG     LADIES'     READER.  421 

I  know  the  base  world  will  seek  to  deceive  thee, 

With  falsehood  like  that  which  thy  mother  beguiled ; 

Yet,  lost  and  degraded — to  whom  can  I  leave  thee  1 
O  God  of  the  fatherless  !  pity  my  child  ! 


EXERCISE    CXLVII. 
THE  BRAHMIN  AND  THE   ROGUES. 

MAOAULAY. 

1.  A  pious  Brahmin,  it  is  wi;itten,  made  a  vow  that,  on  a 
certain  day,  he  would  sacrifice  a^  sheep,  and,  on  the  appointed 
morning,  he  went  forth  to  buy  one.  There  lived  in  his  neigh- 
borhood three  rogues,  who  knew  of  his  vow,  and  laid  a  scheme 
for  profiting  by  it.  The  first  met  him  and  said  :  "  Oh,  Brah- 
min, wilt  thou  buy  a  sheep  ?  I  have  one  fit  for  sacrifice." 
"It  is  for  that  very  purpose,"  said  the  holy  man,  "  that  I  came 
forth  this  day." 

2.  Then  the  impostor  opened  a  bag,  and  brought  out  of  it 
an  unclean  beast,  an  ugly  dog,  lame  and  blind.  Thereon  the 
Brahmin  cried  out :  "  Wretch,  who  touchest  things  impure, 
and  utterest  things  untrue :  callest  thou  that  cur  a  sheep  ?" 
"  Truly,"  answered  the  other,  "  it  is  a  sheep  of  the  finest 
fleece,  and  of  the  sweetest  flesh.  Oh,  Brahmin,  it  will  be  an 
oflTering  most  acceptable  to  the  gods."  "  Friend,"  said  the 
Brahmin,  "  either  thou  or  I  must  he  blind." 

3.  Just  then  one  of  the  accomplices  came  up.  "  Praised 
be  the  gods,"  said  this  second  rogue,  "  that  I  have  been  saved 
the  trouble  of  going  to  the  market  for  a  sheep !  This  is  such 
a  sheep  as  I  wanted.  For  how  much  wilt  thou  sell  it?" 
When  the  Brahmin  heard  this,  his  mind  waved  to  and  fro 
like  one  swinging  in  the  air  at  a  holy  festival.  "  Sir,"  said  he 
to  the  ne-^^ comer,  "take  heed  what  thou  dost;  this  is  no 
sheep,  but  an  unclean  cur."  "  Oh,  Brahmin,"  said  the  new 
comer,  "  thoii  art  drunk  or  mad  !" 


^22  SANDEES'     NEW     SERIES. 


4.  At  this  time  the  third  confederate  drew  near.  "  Let  us 
ask  this  man,"  said  the  Brahmin,  "  what  the  creature  is,  and 
I  will  stand  by  what  he  shall  say."  To  this  the  others 
agreed ;  and  the  Brahmin  called  out :  "  Oh,  stranger,  what 
dost  thou  call  this  beast  1"  "  Surely,  Oh,  Brahmin,"  said  the 
knave,  "  it  is  a  fine  sheep."  Then  said  the  Brahmin  :  "  Surely 
the  gods  have  taken  away  my  senses," — and  he  asked  pardon 
of  him  who  carried  the  dog,  and  bought  it  for  a  measure  of 
rice  and  a  pot  of  ghee,  and  offered  it  up  to  the  gods,  who,  be- 
ing wroth  at  this  unclean  sacrifice,  smote  him  with  a  sore  dis- 
ease in  all  his  joints. 

5.  Thus,  or  nearly  thus,  if  we  remember  rightly,  runs  the 
story  of  the  Sanscrit  -^sop.  *•  The  moral,  like  the  moral  of 
every  fable  that  is  worth  the  telling,  lies  on  the  surface.  The 
writer  evidently  means  to  caution  us  against  the  practices  of 
puffers, — a  class  of  people  who  have  more  than  once  talked 
the  public  into  the  most  absurd  errors. 


EXERCISE    CXLVIII. 

Note. — Desdemona,  the  daughter  of  Brabantio,  a  Venetian  senator, 
having  become  enamored  of  Othello,  a  noble  Moor,  in  the  service 
of  the  States  of  Venice,  leaves  her  father's  house,  and  is  secretly 
married  to  him. 

OTHELLO'S  DEFENSE. 

SHAKSPEAKE. 

Scene — A  Council  Chamber.  The  Duke  of  Venice  and  Sen- 
ators sitting  at  a  table :  Officers  in  attendance.  Enter 
Brabantio,  Othello,  Iago,  (his  Ancient*)  and  Officers. 

Duke.  Valiant  Othello,  we  must  straight  employ  you 
Against  the  general  enemy  Ottoman. 

I  did  not  see  you ;  welcome,  gentle  signior,       [To  BrabanHO. 
W^e  lacked  your  counsel  and  your  help  to-night. 

Bra.  So  did  I  yours.     Good  your  grace,  pardon  me ; 
*  Ensign,  or  bearer  of  a  flag. 


YOUNG    LADIES'  READER.  42S 

Neither  my  place,  nor  aught  I  heard  of  business,  ^ 

Hath  raised  me  from  my  bed  ;  nor  doth  the  general  care      ^ 
Take  hold  on  me  ;  for  my  particular  grief 
Is  of  so  flood-gate  and  overbearing  nature, 
That  it  engluts  and  swallows  other  sorrows, 
And  it  is  still  itself! 

Buke.  Why,  what 's  the  matter  1 

Bra.  My  daughter  !  O,  my  daughter  ! 

Ben.  Dead  % 

Bra.  Aye,  to  me ; 

She  is  abused,  stol'n  from  me,  and  corrupted 
By  spells  and  medicines  bought  of  mountebanks  : 
For  nature  so  preposterously  to  err. 
Being  not  deficient,  blind,  or  lame  of  sense, 
Sans*  witchcraft  could  not 

Buke.  Who'er  he  be,  that,  in  this  foul  proceeding, 
Hath  thus  beguiled  your  daughter  of  herself. 
And  you  of  her,  the  bloody  book  of  law 
You  shall  yourself  read  in  the  bitter  letter. 
After  your  own  sense ;  yea,  though  our  proper  son     . 
Stood  in  your  action. 

Bra.  Humbly  I  thank  your  grace. 

Here  is  the  man,  this  Moor  ;  whom  now,  it  seems, 
Your  special  mandate,  for  the  State  affairs, 
Hath  hither  brought. 

Buke  &  Sen.  We  are  very  sorry  for  it. 

Buke.  What,  on  your  own  part,  can  you  say  to  this  ? 

[To  Othello. 

Bra.  Nothing,  but  this  is  so. 
0th,  Most  potent,  grave,  and  reverend  signiors,f 
My  very  noble  and  approved  good  masters, — 
That  I  have  ta'en  away  this  old  man's  daughter,, 
It  is  most  true  ;  true,  I  have  married  her  ; 
The  very  head  and  front  of  my  offending 

*  Sans,  without. 

f  Signior  (also  written  seignior),  is  a  title  of  honor,  and  means  lord. 
It  is  pronounced  seen  yur. 


424  SANDERS'    NEW    SERIES. 

Hath  this  extent, — ^no  more.     Rude  am  I  in  my  speech, 

And  little  blessed  with  the  set  phrase  of  peace  ; 

For  since  these  arms  of  mine  had  seven  years'  pith, 

Till  now  some  nine  moons  wasted,  they  have  used 

Their  dearest  action  in  the  tented  field  ; 

And  little  of  this  great  world  can  I  speak, 

More  than  pertains  to  feats  of  broil  and  battle ; 

And,  therefore,  little  shall  I  grace  my  cause 

In  speaking  for  myself:  yet,  by  your  gracious  patience, 

I  will  a  round  unvarnished  tale  deliver, 

Of  my  whole  course  of  love ;  what  drugs,  what  charms, 

What  conjuration,  and  what  mighty  magic, 

(For  such  proceeding  I  am  charged  withal,) 

I  won  his  daughter  with. 

Bra.  A  maiden  never  bold ; 

Of  spirit  so  still  and  quiet,  that  her  motion 
Blushed  at  herself :  and  she, — in  spite  of  nature, 
Of  years,  of  country,  credit,  every  thing, — 
To  fall  in  love  with  what  she  feared  to  look  on  1 
It  is  a  judgment  maimed,  and  most  imperfect, 
That  will  confess,  perfection  so  could  err 
Against  all  rules  of  nature. 
I,  therefore,  vouch  again. 

That  with  some  mixtures  powerful  o'er  the  blood. 
Or  with  some  dram  conjured  to  this  effect. 
He  wrought  upon  her. 

Duke.  To  vouch  this  is  no  proof;  Othello,  speak  ;— 
Did  you  by  indirect  and  forced  courses 
Subdue  and  poison  this  young  maid's  affections ; 
Or  came  it  by  request,  and  such  fair  question 
As  soul  to  soul  affordeth "? 

0th.  I  do  beseech  you, 

Send  for  the  lady  to  the  Sagittary, 
And  let  her  speak  of  me  before  her  father  : 
If  you  do  find  me  foul  in  her  report, 
The  trust,  the  office  I  do  hold  of  you, 


YOUNG     LADIES'    READER.  426 

Not  only  take  away,  but  let  your  sentence 
Even  fall  upon  my  life. 

DuTce.  Fetch  Desdemona  hither. 

0th.  Ancient,  conduct  them  :  you  best  know  the  plaC/C. 

[Exeunt  Iago,  and  Attendants. 
And,  till  she  come,  as  truly  as  to  Heaven 
I  do  confess  the  vices  of  my  blood. 
So  justly  to  your  grave  ears  I  '11  present 
How  I  did  thrive  in  this  fair  lady's  love, 
And  she  in  mine. 

Duke.  Say  it,  Othello. 

0th.  Her  father  loved  me  ;  oft  invited  me ; 
Still  questioned  me  the  story  of  my  life. 
From  year  to  year  ;  the  battles,  sieges,  fortunes, 
That  I  have  passed. 

I  ran  it  through,  even  from  my  boyish  days, 
To  the  very  moment  that  he  bade  me  tell  it. 
Wherein  I  spoke  of  most  disastrous  chances, 
Of  moving  accidents,  by  flood  and  field  ; 
Of  hair-breadth  'scapes  i'  the  imminent  deadly  breach ; 
Of  being  taken  by  the  insolent  foe. 
And  sold  to  slavery  ;  of  my  redemption  thence, 
And  portance  in  my  travel's  history : 
Wherein  of  antres*  vast,  and  deserts  wild, 
Rough  quarries,  rocks,  and  hills  whose  heads  touch  heaven, 
It  was  my  hint  to  speak,  such  was  the  process  ; 
And  of  the  Cannibals  that  each  other  eat, 
The  Anthropophagi, f  and  men  whose  heads 
Do  grow  beneath  their  shoulders.     These  to  hear, 
Would  Desdemona  seriously  incline  ; 
But  still  the  house  affairs  would  draw  her  thence ; 
Which  ever  as  she  could  with  haste  dispatch, 
She  'd  come  again,  and  with  a  greedy  ear 
Devour  up  my  discourse.    Which  I  observing. 
Took  once  a  pliant  hour  ;  and  found  good  means 

*  Antres  (an'turs)  caverns.  f  An-thro-pop'h-a-gi,  men-eaters. 


428  SANDERS'    NEW    SERIES. 

To  draw  from  her  a  prayer  of  earnest  heart, 

That  I  would  all  my  pilgrimage  dilate, 

Whereof  by  parcels  she  had  something  heard, 

But  not  intentively :  I  did  consent, 

And  often  did  beguile  her  of  her  tears, 

"When  I  did  speak  of  some  distressful  stroke, 

That  my  youth  suffered.     My  story  being  done, 

She  gave  me  for  my  pains  a  world  of  sighs  : 

She  swore, — In  faith,  't  was  strange,  't  was  passing  strange, 

'T  was  pitiful,  't  was  wondrous  pitiful : 

She  wished,  she  had  not  heard  it ;  yet  she  wished 

That  Heaven  had  made  her  such  a  man  ;  she  thanked  ihie  ; 

And  bade  me,  if  I  had  a  friend  that  loved  her, 

I  should  but  teach  him  how  to  tell  my  story. 

And  that  would  woo  her.     Upon  this  hint,  I  spake  : 

She  loved  me  for  the  dangers  I  had  passed ; 

And  I  loved  her,  that  she  did  pity  them. 

This  only  is  the  witchcraft  I  have  used ; 

Here  comes  the  lady,  let  her  witness  it. 

Enter  Desdemona,  Iago,  and  Attendants. 

Duke.  I  think,  this  tale  would  win  my  daughter,  too. 
Good  Brabantio, 

Take  up  this  mangled  matter  at  the  best : 
Men  do  their  broken  weapons  rather  use, 
Than  their  bare  hands. 

Bra.  I  pray  you,  hear  her  speak : 

If  she  confess  that  she  was  half  the  wooer, 
Destruction  on  my  head,  if  my  bad  blame 
Light  on  the  man ! — Come  hither,  gentle  mistress ; 
Do  you  perceive,  in  all  this  noble  company, 
Where  most  you  owe  obedience  ? 

Bes.  My  noble  father, 

I  do  perceive  here  a  divided  duty  : 
To  you,  I  am  bound  for  life,  and  education ; 
My  life,  and  education,  both  do  learn  me 
How  to  respect  you ;  you  are  the  lord  of  duty, 


YOUNG    LADIES'     READER.  427 

I  am  liitherto  your  daughter.     But  here 's  my  husband  ; 
And  so  much  duty  as  my  mother  showed 
To  you,  preferring  you  before  her  father, 
So  much  I  challenge  that  I  may  profess 
Due  to  the  Moor,  my  lord. 

Bra.  Heaven  be  with  you  ! — I  have  done  : — 
Come  hither,  Moor : 

I  here  do  give  thee  that  with  all  my  heart, 
Which,  but  thou  hast  already,  with  all  my  heart 
I  would  keep  from  thee.     I  have  done,  my  lord  ; 
Proceed  to  the  affairs  of  State. 


EXERCISE   CXLIX. 

HAGAR   IN  THE   WILDERNESS. 

N.  P.  wniia, 

1.  The  morning  broke.     Light  stole  upon  the  clouds 
With  a  strange  beauty.     Earth  received  again 

Its  garment  of  a  thousand  dyes  ;  and  leaves, 
And  delicate  blossoms,  and  the  painted  flowers, 
And  every  thing  that  bendeth  to  the  dew, 
And  stirreth  with  the  daylight,  lifted  up 
Its  beauty  to  the  breath  of  that  sweet  morn. 

2.  All  things  are  dark  to  sorrow ;  and  the  light, 
And  loveliness,  and  fragrant  air,  were  sad 

To  the  dejected  Hagar.     The  moist  earth 

Was  pouring  odors  from  its  spicy  pores. 

And  the  young  birds  were  caroling  as  life 

Were  a  new  thing  to  them ;  but  O  !  it  came 

Upon  her  heart  like  discord,  and  she  felt 

How  cruelly  it  tries  a  broken  heart. 

To  see  a  mirth  in  any  thing  it  loves. 

She  stood  at  Abraham's  tent.     Her  lips  were 

Till  the  blood  left  them ;  and  the  wandering  veins 

Of  her  transparent  forehead  were  swelled  out. 

As  if  her  pride  would  burst  them.     Her  dark  eye 


428  SANDERS'    NEW    SERIES. 

Was  clear  and  tearless,  and  the  light  of  heaven, 
Which  made  its  language  legible,  shot  back 
From  her  long  lashes,  as  it  had  been  flame. 

3.  Her  noble  boy  stood  by  her,  with  his  hand 
Clasped  in  her  own,  and  his  round,  delicate  feet, 
Scarce  trained  to  balance  on  the  tented  floor, 
Sandaled  for  journeying.     He  had  looked  up 
Into  his  mother's  face  until  he  caught 

The  spirit  there,  and  his  young  heart  was  swelling 
Beneath  his  snowy  bosom,  and  his  form 
Straightened  up  proudly  in  his  tiny  wrath, 
As  if  his  light  proportions  would  have  swelled, 
Had  they  but  matched  his  spirit,  to  the  man. 

4.  Why  bends  the  patriarch,  as  he  cometh  now 
Upon  his  staff  so  wearily  ?     His  beard 

Is  low  upon  his  breast,  and  his  high  brow, 
So  written  with  the  converse  of  his  God, 
Beareth  the  swollen  vein  of  agony. 
His  lip  is  quivering,  and  his  wonted  step 
Of  vigor  is  not  there ;  and,  though  the  mom 
Is  passing  fair  and  beautiful,  he  breathes 
Its  freshness  as  it  were  a  pestilence. 
O  !  man  may  bear  with  suffering ;  his  heart 
Is  a  strong  thing,  and  godlike  in  the  grasp 
Of  pain  that  wrings  mortality  ;  but  tear 
One  chord  affection  clings  to,  part  one  tie 
That  binds  him  to  a  woman's  delicate  love, 
And  his  great  spirit  yieldeth  like  a  reed. 

5.  He  gave  to  her  the  water  and  the  bread. 
But  spoke  no  word,  and  trusted  not  himself 
To  look  upon  her  face,  but  laid  his  hand. 

In  silent  blessing  on  the  fair-haired  boy, 
And  left  her  to  her  lot  of  loneliness. 


YOUNG    LADIES'  KEADER.  429 

6.  Should  Hagar  weep  ?    May  slighted  woman  turn, 
And,  as  a  vine  the  oak  hath  shaken  off, 

Bend  lightly  to  her  leaning  trust  again  1 
O  no !  by  all  her  loveliness,  by  all 
That  makes  life  poetry  and  beauty,  no ! 
Make  her  a  slave ;  steal  from  her  rosy  cheek 
By  needless  jealousies ;  let  the  last  star 
Leave  her  a  watcher  by  your  couch  of  pain ; 
Wrong  her  by  petulance,  suspicion,  all 
That  makes  her  cup  a  bitterness, — yet  give 
One  evidence  of  love,  and  earth  has  not 
An  emblem  of  devotedness  like  hers. 
But  O  !  estrange  her  once,  it  boots  not  how, 
By  wrong  or  silence,  any  thing  that  tells 
A  change  has  come  upon  your  tenderness,— 
And  there  is  not  a  high  thing  out  of  heaven, 
Her  pride  o'ermastereth  not. 

7.  She  went  her  way  with  a  strong  step  and  slow  ; 
Her  pressed  lip  arched,  and  her  clear  eye  undimmed, 
As  it  had  been  a  diamond,  and  her  form 

Borne  proudly  up,  as  if  her  heart  breathed  through. 
Her  child  kept  on  in  silence,  though  she  pressed 
His  hand  till  it  was  pained ;  for  he  had  caught, 
As  I  have  said,  her  spirit,  and  the  seed 
Of  a  stern  nation  had  been  breathed  upon. 

8.  The  morning  passed,  and  Asia's  sun  rose  up 
In  the  clear  heaven,  and  every  beam  was  heat. 
The  cattle  of  the  hills  were  in  the  shade, 
And  the  bright  plumage  of  the  Orient  lay 

On  beating  bosoms  in  her  spicy  trees. 

It  was  an  hour  of  rest ;  but  Hagar  found 

No  shelter  in  the  wilderness,  and  on 

She  kept  her  weary  way,  until  the  boy 

Hung  down  his  head,  and  opened  his  parched  lips 


SANDERS'     NEW     SERIES, 

For  water ;  but  she  could  not  give  it  him. 
She  laid  him  down  beneath  the  sultry  sky, — 
For  it  was  better  than  the  close,  hot  breath 
Of  the  thick  pines, — and  tried  to  comfort  him  ; 
But  he  was  sore  athirst,  and  his  blue  eyes 
Were  dim  and  bloodshot,  and  he  could  not  know 
Why  God  denied  him  water  in  the  wild. 

9.  She  sat  a  little  longer,  and  he  grew 

Ghastly  and  faint,  as  if  he  would  have  died. 

It  was  too  much  for  her.     She  lifted  him, 

And  bore  him  further  on,  and  laid  his  head 

Beneath  the  shadow  of  a  desert  shrub ; 

And,  shrouding  up  her  face,  she  went  away. 

And  sat  to  watch,  where  he  could  see  her  not, 

Till  he  should  die;  and,  watching,  him,  she  mourned 

10.  "  God  stay  thee  in  thine  agony,  my  boy ; 
I  can  not  see  thee  die ;  I  can  not  brook 

Upon  thy  brow  to  look, 
And  see  death  settle  on  my  cradle  joy. 
How  have  I  drunk  the  light  of  thy  blue  eye ! 

And  could  I  see  thee  die  ? 

11.  "I  did  not  dream  of  this,  when  thou  wast  straying, 
Like  an  unbound  gazelle,  among  the  flowers ; 

Or  wearing  rosy  hours. 
By  the  rich  gush  of  water-sources  playing, 
Then  sinking  weary  to  thy  smiling  sleep. 

So  beautiful  and  deep. 

12.  "  O  no  !  and  when  I  watched  by  thee  the  while, 
And  saw  thy  bright  lip  curling  in  thy  dream, 

And  thought  of  the  dark  stream 
In  my  own  land  of  Egypt,  the  far  Nile, 
How  prayed  I  that  my  father's  land  might  be 

A  heritage  for  thee ! 


YOUNG    LADIES'    READER.  431 

13.  "And  now  the  grave  for  its  cold  breast  hath  won  thee, 
And  thy  white,  delicate  limbs  the  earth  will  press ; 

And  0  !  raj  last  caress 
Must  feel  thee  cold,  for  a  chill  hand  is  on  thee. 
How  can  I  leave  my  boy  so  pillowed  there 

Upon  his  clustering  hair !" 

1 4.      She  stood  beside  the  well  her  God  had  given 
To  gush  in  that  deep  vrildemess,  and  bathed 
The  forehead  of  her  child  until  he  laughed 
In  his  reviving  happiness,  and  lisped 
His  infant  thought  of  gladness  at  the  sight 
Of  the  cool  plashing  of  his  mother's  hteid. 


EXERCISE    CL. 


THE   PRAIRIE   ON  FIRE. 

J.    FBNIMOEB  COOPER. 

1.  The  sleep  of  the  fugitives  lasted  for  several  hours.  The 
trapper  was  the  first  to  shake  off  its  influence,  as  he  had  been 
the  last  to  court  its  refreshment.  Rising,  just  as  the  gray 
light  of  day  began  to  brighten  that  portion  of  the  studded 
vault  which  rested  on  the  eastern  margin  of  the  plain,  he 
summoned  his  companions  from  their  warm  lairs,  and  point- 
ed out  the  necessity  of  their  being  once  more  on  the  alert. 

2.  "  See,  Middleton !"  exclaimed  Inez,  in  a  sudden  burst  of 
youthful  pleasure,  that  caused  her  for  a  moment  to  forget  her 
situation ;  "  how  lovely  is  that  sky ;  surely  it  contains  a 
promise  of  happier  times  !" 

3.  "  It  is  glorious !"  returned  her  husband.  "  Glorious  and 
heavenly  is  that  streak  of  vivid  red,  and  here  is  a  still, 
brighter  crimson  ; — rarely  have  I  seen  a  richer  rising  of  the 
sun." 

4.  "  Rising  of  the  sun  !"  slowly  repeated  the  old  man,  lift 


432  SANDEKS'    NEW    SERIES. 

ing  his  tall  person  from  its  seat,  with  a  deliberate  and  ab- 
stracted air,  while  he  kept  his  eye  riveted  on  the  changing 
and  certainly  beautiful  tints  that  were  garnishing  the  vault  of 
heaven.  "  Rising  of  the  sun  !  I  like  not  such  risings  of  the 
sun.  Ah 's  me  !  the  imps  have  circumvented  us  with  a  ven- 
geance.    The  prairie  is  on  fire  !" 

5.  "  God  in  Heaven  protect  us !"  cried  Middleton,  catching 
Inez  to  his  bosom,  under  the  instant  impression  of  the  immi- 
nence of  their  danger.  "  There  is  no  time  to  lose,  old  man  ; 
each  instant  is  a  day  ; — ^let  us  fly !" 

6.  "  Whither  ?"  demanded  the  trapper,  motioning  him,  with 
calmness  and  dignity,  to  arrest  his  steps.  "  In  this  wilder- 
ness of  grass  ana  reeds,  you  are  like  a  vessel  in  the  broad 
lakes  without  a  compass.  A  suagle  step  on  the  wrong  course 
might  prove  the  destruction  of  us  all.  It  is  seldom  danger  is 
so  pressing,  that  there  is  not  time  enough  for  reason  to  do  its 
work,  young  officer  ;  therefore,  let  us  await  its  biddings." 

7.  "  For  my  part,"  said  Paul  Hover,  looking  about  him 
with  no  unequivocal  expression  of  concern,  "  I  acknowledge, 
that  should  this  dry  bed  of  weeds  get  fairly  in  a  flame,  a  bee 
would  have  to  make  a  flight  higher  than  common  to  prevent 
his  wings  from  scorching.  Therefore,  old  trapper,  I  agree 
with  the  captain,  and  say,  mount  and  run !" 

8.  "  Ye  are  wrong, — ^ye  are  wrong, — man  is  not  a  beast,  to 
follow  the  gift  of  instinct,  and  to  snuff"  up  his  knowledge  by  a 
taint  in  the  air,  or  a  rumbling  in  the  sound  ;  but  he  must  see, 
and  reason,  and  then  conclude.  So,  follow  me  a  little  to  the 
left,  where  there  is  a  rising  in  the  ground,  whence  we  may 
make  our  reconnoiterings." 

9.  The  old  man  waved  his  hand  with  authority,  and  led  th 
way,  without  further  parlance,  to  the  spot  he  had  indicated, 
followed  by  the  whole  of  his  alarmed  companions.  An  eye 
less  practiced  than  that  of  the  trapper,  might  have  failed  in 
discovering  the  gentle  elevation  to  which  he  alluded,  and 
which  looked  on  the  surface  of  the  meadow  like  a  growth  a 
little  taller  than  common. 


YOtJNG    LADIES'  HEADER.  483 

10.  When  they  reached  the  place,  however,  the  stinted 
gi'ass  itself  announced  the  absence  of  that  moisture  which  had 
fed  the  rank  weeds  of  most  of  the  plain,  and  furnished  a  clue 
to  the  evidence,  by  which  he  had  judged  of  the  formation  of 
the  ground  hidden  beneath.  Here  a  few  minutes  were  lost  in 
breaking  down  the  tops  of  the  surrounding  herbage, — which, 
notwithstanding  the  advantage  of  their  position,  rose  even 
above  the  heads  of  Middleton  and  Paul, — and  in  obtaining  a 
look-out  that  might  command  a  view  of  the  surrounding  sea 
of  fire. 

11.  The  examination  which  his  companions  so  instantly 
and  so  intently  made,  rather  served  to  assure  them  of  their 
desperate  situation  than  to  appease  their  fears.  Huge  col- 
umns of  smoke  were  rolling  up  from  the  plain,  and  thicken- 
ing in  gloomy  masses  around  the  horizon.  The  red  glow 
which  gleamed  upon  their  enormous  folds,  now  lighting  their 
volumes  with  the  glare  of  the  conflagration,  now  flashed  to 
another  point,  as  the  flame  beneath  glided  ahead,  leaving  all 
behind  enveloped  in  awful  darkness,  and  proclaiming  louder 
than  words  the  character  of  the  imminent  and  rapidly-ap- 
proaching danger. 

12.  "  This  is  terrible !"  exclaimed  Middleton,  folding  the 
trembling  Inez  to  his  heart.  "  At  such  a  time  as  this,  and  in 
such  a  manner  !" 

13.  "The  gates  of  Heaven  are  open  to  all  who  truly  be- 
lieve," murmured  the  pious  devotee  in  his  bosom. 

14.  "  This  resignation  is  maddening !  But  we  are  men, 
and  will  make  a  struggle  for  our  lives !  How  now,  my 
brave  and  spirited  friend,  shall  we  yet  mount  and  push  across 
the  flames,  or  shall  we  stand  here,  and  see  those  we  most  love 
perish  in  this  frightful  manner  without  an  eflfort  ?" 

15.  "I  am  for  a  swarming  time,  and  a  flight,  before  the 
hive  is  too  hot  to  hold  us,"  said  the  bee-hunter,  to  whom  it 
will  be  at  once  seen  that  the  half  distracted  Middleton  ad- 
dressed himself  "  Come,  old  trapper,  you  must  acknowledge 
this  is  but  a  slow  way  of  getting  out  of  danger.     If  we  tarry 

19 


434  SANDEKS'     NEW     SEEIES 

here  much  longer,  it  will  be  in  the  fashion  that  the  bees  lie 
around  the  straw,  after  the  hive  has  been  smoked  for  its 
honey.  You  may  hear  the  fire  begin  to  roar  already  ;  and  I 
know  by  experience,  that  when  the  flame  once  gets  fairly  into 
the  prairie  grass,  it  is  no  sloth  that  can  outrun  it." 

16.  "  Think  you,"  returned  the  old  man,  pointing  scornfully 
at  the  mazes  of  the  dry  and  matted  grass  which  environed  them, 
"  that  mortal  feet  can  outstrip  the  speed  of  fire  on  such  a  path  f 

17.  "  What  say  you,  friend  doctor  1"  cried  the  bewildered 
Paul,  turning  to  the  naturalist,  with  that  sort  of  helplessness 
with  which  the  strong  are  often  apt  to  seek  aid  of  the  weak, 
when  human  power  is  baffled  by  the  hand  of  a  mightier  Be- 
ing ;  "  what  say  you  ;  have  you  no  advice  to  give  away,  in  a 
case  of  life  and  death  ?" 

18.  The  naturalist  stood,  tablets  in  hands,  looking  at  the 
awful  spectacle  with  as  much  composure  as  though  the  confla- 
gration had  been  lighted  in  order  to  solve  the  difficulties  of 
some  scientific  problem.  Aroused  by  the  question  of  his 
companion,  he  turned  to  his  equally  calm,  though  differently 
occupied  associate,  the  trapper,  demanding,  with  the  most 
provoking  insensibility  to  the  urgent  nature  of  their  situation, 
— "  Venerable  hunter,  you  have  often  witnessed  similar  pris- 
matic experiments — " 

19.  He  was  rudely  interrupted  by  Paul,  who  struck  the 
tablets  from  his  hands  with  a  violence  that  betrayed  the  ut- 
ter intellectual  confusion  which  had  overset  the  equanimity 
of  his  mind.  Before  time  was  allowed  for  remonstrance,  the 
old  man,  who  had  continued  duriiig  the  whole  scene  like  one 
much  at  a  loss  how  to  proceed,  though,  also,  like  one  who  was 
rather  perplexed  than  alarmed,  suddenly  assumed  a  decided 
air,  as  if  he  no  longer  doubted  on  the  course  it  was  most  ad- 
visable to  pursue. 

20.  "  It  is  time  to  be  doing,"  he  said,  interrupting  the  con- 
troversy that  was  about  to  ensue  between  the  naturalist  and 
the  bee-hunter ;  "  it  is  time  to  '  eave  off"  books  and  moanings, 
and  to  be  doing."  •  , 


YOUNG    LADIES'  READER.  435 

21.  "  You  have  come  to  your  recollections  too  late,  miser- 
able old  man !"  cried  Middleton ;  "  the  flames  are  within  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  of  us,  and  the  wind  is  bringing  them  down 
in  this  quarter  with  dreadful  rapidity." 

22.  "Anan!  the  flames !  I  care  but  little  for  the  flames! 
If  I  only  knew  how  to  circumvent  the- cunning  of  the  Tetons 
as  I  Icnow  how  to  cheat  the  fire  of  its  prey,  there  would  be 
nothing  needed  but  thanks  to  the  Lord  for  our  deliverance. 
Do  you  call  this  a  fire  ?  If  you  had  seen  what  I  have  wit- 
nessed in  the  eastern  hills,  when  mighty  mountains  were  like 
the  furnace  of  a  smith,  you  would  have  known  what  it  was  to 
fear  the  flames,  and  to  be  thankful  that  you  were  spared  ! 
Come,  lads,  come ;  't  is  time  to  be  doing  now,  and  to  cease 
talking ;  for  yonder  curling  flame  is  truly  coming  on  like  a 
trotting  moos*^.  Put  hands  upon  this  short  and  withered 
grass  where  v  e  stand,  and  lay  bare  the  'arth." 

23.  "  Woald  you  think  to  deprive  the  fire  of  its  victims  in 
this  childish  manner  f  exclaimed  Middleton. 

24.  A  faint  but  solemn  smile  passed  over  the  features  of 
the  old  man,  as  he  answered — "  Your  gran'ther  would  have 
said,  that  when  the  enemy  was  nigh,  a  soldier  could  do  no 
better  than  to  obey." 

25.  The  captain  felt  the  reproof,  and  instantly  began  to  im 
itate  the  industry  of  Paul,  who  was  tearing  the  decayed  herb- 

•age  from  the  ground  in  a  sort  of  desperate  compliance  with 
the  trapper's  direction.  Even  Ellen  lent  her  hands  to  the  la- 
bor, nor  was  it  long  before  Inez  was  seen  similarly  employed, 
though  none  among  them  knew  why  or  wherefore.  When 
life  is  thought  to  be  the  reward  of  labor,  men  are  wont  to  be 
industrious.  A  very  few  moments  sufficed  to  lay  bare  a  spot 
of  some  twenty  feet  in  diameter. 

26.  Into  one  edge  of  this  little  area  the  trapper  brought  the 
females,  directing  Middleton  and  Paul  to  cover  their  light  and 
inflammable  dresses  with  the  blankets  of  the  party.  So  soon 
as  this  preca  ition  was  oliserved,  the  old  man  approached  the 
opposite  side  of  the  grass,  which  still  environed  them  in  a  tall 


4^  SANDERS'  NEW    SERIES. 

and  dangerous  circle,  and  selecting  a  handful  of  the  driest  of 
the  herbage,  he  placed  it  over  the  pan  of  his  rifle.  The  light 
combustible  kindled  at  the  flash.  Then  he  placed  the  little 
flame  into  a  bed  of  the  standing  fog,  and,  withdrawing  from  the 
spot  to  the  center  of  the  ring,  he  patiently  awaited  the  result. 

27.  The  subtle  element  seized  with  avidity  upon  its  new 
fuel,  and  in  a  moment  forked  flames  were  gliding  among  the 
grass,  as  the  tongues  of  ruminating  animals  are  seen  rolling 
among  their  food,  apparently  in  quest  of  its  sweetest  portions. 

28.  "  Now,"  said  the  old  man,  holding  up  a  finger,  and 
laughing  in  his  peculiarly  silent  manner,  "  you  shall  see  fire 
fight  fire !  Ah 's  me !  many  is  the  time  I  have  burnt  a 
smootly  path  from  wanton  laziness  to  pick  my  way  across  a 
tangled  bottom." 

29.  "  But  is  this  not  fatal  1"  cried  the  amaz  3d  Middleton  ; 
"  are  you  not  bringing  the  enemy  nigher  to  i  s  instead  of 
avoiding  it  f 

30.  "  Do  you  scorch  so  easily  1 — your  gran'ther  had  a 
tougher  skin.  But  we  shall  live  to  see  ;  we  shall  all  live  to 
see." 

31.  The  experience  of  the  trapper  was  in  the  right.  As 
the  fire  gained  strength  and  heat,  it  began  to  spread  on  three 
sides,  dying  of  itself  on  the  fourth  for  want  of  aliment.  As 
it  increased,  and  the  sullen  roaring  announced  its  power,  it 
cleared  every  thing  before  it,  leaving  the  black  and  smok- 
ing soil  far  more  naked  than  if  the  scythe  had  swept  the 
place.  The  situation  of  the  fugitives  would  have  still  been 
hazardous,  had  not  the  area  enlarged  as  the  flame  encircled 
them.  But,  by  advancing  to  the  spot  where  the  trapper  had 
kindled  the  grass,  they  avoided  the  heat,  and,  in  a  very  few 
moments,  the  flames  began  to  recede  in  every  quarter,  leav- 
ing them  enveloped  in  a  cloud  of  smoke,  but  perfectly  safe 
from  the  torrent  of  fire  that  was  still  furiously  rolling  onward. 

32.  The  spectators  regarded  the  simple  expedient  of  the 
trapper  with  that  species  of  wonder,  with  which  the  courtiers 
of  Ferdinand  are  said  to  have  viewed  the  manner  in  which 


YOUNG     LADIES'     READER.  437 


Columbus  made   his  egg  to  stand  on  its  end,  though  with 
feelings  that  were  filled  with  gratitude  instead  of  envy. 

33.  "  Most  wonderful !"  said  Middleton,  when  he  saw  the 
complete  success  of  the  means,  by  which  they  had  been  res- 
cued from  a  danger  that  he  had  conceived  to  be  unavoida- 
ble. "  The  thought  was  a  gift  from  Heaven,  and  the  hand 
that  executed  it,  should  be  immortal." 

34.  "  Old  trapper,"  cried  Paul,  thrusting  his  fingers  through 
his  shaggy  locks,  "  I  have  lined  many  a  loaded  bee  into  his 
hole,  and  know  something  of  the  nature  of  the  woods,  but  this 
is  robbing  a  hornet  of  his  sting  without  touching  the  insect !" 

35.  "  It  will  do — it  will  do,"  returned  the  old  man,  who, 
after  the  first  moment  of  his  success,  seemed  to  think  no 
more  of  the  exploit.  "  Let  the  flames  do  their  work  for  a 
short  half  hour,  and  then  we  will  mount.  That  time  is  need- 
ed to  cool  the  meadow,  for  these  unshod  beasts  are  tender 
on  the  hoof  as  a  barefooted  girl." 

36.  The  veteran,  on  whose  experience  they  all  so  implicit- 
ly relied  for  protection,  employed  himself  in  reconnoitering 
objects  in  the  distance,  through  the  openings  which  the  air  oc- 
casionally made  in  the  immense  bodies  of  smoke,  that,  by 
this  time,  lay  in  enormous  piles  on  every  part  of  the  plain. 


EXERCISE    CLI. 
THE  ACORN. 

B,   OAKSS  BIHTE. 

1 .      An  acom  fell  from  an  old  oak  tree. 

And  lay  on  the  frosty  ground — 
"  O,  what  shall  the  fate  of  the  acorn  be  1" 

Was  whispered  all  around. 
By  low-toned  voices,  chiming  sweet, 

Like  a  floweret's  bell  when  swung, — 
And  grasshopper  steeds  were  gathering  fleet, 

And  the  beetle's  hoofs  up-rung — 


438  SANDERS'  NEW    SERIES, 

For  the  woodland  Fays  came  sweeping  past 

In  the  pale  autumnal  ray, 
Where  the  forest  leaves  were  falling  fast, 

And  the  acorn  quivering  lay  ; 
They  came  to  tell  what  its  fate  should  be. 

Though  life  was  unrevealed ; 
For  life  is  holy  mystery, 

Where  'er  it  is  concealed. 

They  came  with  gifts  that  should  life  bestow ; 

The  dew  and  the  living  air, — 
The  bane  that  should  work  its  deadly  woe, — 

Was  found  with  the  fairies  there. 
In  the  gray  moss-cup  was  the  mildew  brought, 

And  the  worm,  in  the  rose-leaf  rolled. 
And  many  things  with  destruction  fraught, 

That  its  fate  were  quickly  told. 

But  it  needed  not ;  for  a  blessed  fate 

Was  the  acorn's  meant  to  be, — 
The  spirits  of  earth  should  its  birth-time  wait, 

And  watch  o'er  its  destiny. 
To  a  little  sprite  was  the  task  assigned 

To  bury  the  acorn  deep, 
Away  from  the  frost  and  searching  wind. 

When  they  through  the  forest  sweep. 

I  laughed  outright  at  the  small  thing's  toil, 

As  bowed  beneath  the  spade, 
He  balanced  his  gossamer  wings  the  while 

To  look  in  the  pit  he  made. 
A  thimble's  depth  it  was  scarcely  deep, 

When  the  spade  aside  he  threw, 
And  rolled  the  acorn  away  to  sleep 

In  the  hush  of  dropping  dew. 


YOUNG    LADIES'    EEADER.  439 

6.  The  Spring-time  came  with  its  fresh,  warm  air, 

And  its  gush  of  woodland  song ; 
The  dew  came  down,  and  the  rain  was  there, 

And  the  sunshine  rested  long  ; 
Then  softly  the  black  earth  turned  aside. 

The  old  leaf  arching  o'er, 
And  up,  where  the  last  year's  leaf  was  dried. 

Came  the  acorn-shell  once  more. 

7.  With  coiled  stem,  and  pale  green  hue, 

It  looked  but  a  feeble  thing  ; 
Then  deeply  its  roots  abroad  it  threw. 

Its  strength  from  the  earth  to  bring. 
The  woodland  sprites  are  gathering  round, 

Rejoiced  that  the  task  is  done — 
That  another  life  from  the  noisome  ground 

Is  up  to  the  pleasant  sun. 

8.  Tlie  young  child  passed  with  a  careless  tread, 

And  the  germ  had  well-nigh  crushed, 
But  a  spider,  launched  on  her  airy  thread. 

The  cheek  of  the  stripling  brushed. 
He  little  knew,  as  he  started  back, 

How  the  acorn's  fate  was  hung 
On  the  very  point  in  the  spider's  track. 

Where  the  web  on  his  cheek  was  flung. 

9.  The  Autumn  came,  and  it  stood  alone. 

And  bowed  as  the  wind  passed  by — 
The  wind  that  uttered  its  dirge-like  moan 

In  the  old  oak  sere  and  dry ; 
The  hollow  branches  creaked  and  swayed, 

But  they  bent  not  to  the  blast. 
For  the  stout  oak  tree,  where  centuries  played, 

Was  sturdy  to  the  last. 


440  SANDERS'     NEW     SERIES. 

10.  A  school-boy  beheld  the  lithe  young  shoot, 

And  his  knife  was  instant  out, 
To  sever  the  stalk  from  the  spreading  root. 

And  scatter  the  buds  about ; 
To  peel  the  bark  in  curious  rings, 

And  many  a  notch  and  ray, 
To  beat  the  air  till  it  whizzing  sings,. 

Then  idly  cast  away. 

1 1.  His  hand  was  stayed  ;  he  knew  not  why : 

'T  was  a  presence  breathed  around — 
A  pleading  from  the  deep  blue  sky, 

And  up  from  the  teeming  ground.     • 
It  told  of  the  care  that  had  lavished  been 

In  sunshine  and  in  dew — 
Of  the  many  things  that  had  wrought  a  screen 

When  peril  around  it  grew, 

12.  It  told  of  the  oak  that  once  had  bowed, 

As  feeble  a  thing  to  see  ; 
But  now,  when  the  storm  was  raging  loud. 

It  wrestled  mightily. 
There 's  a  deeper  thought  on  the  school-boy's  brow, 

A  new  love  at  his  heart, 
And  he  ponders  much,  as  with  footsteps  slow 

He  turns  him  to  depart. 

13.  Up  grew  the  twig,  with  a  vigor  bold, 

In  the  shape  of  the  parent  tree, 
And  the  old  oak  knew  that  his  doom  was  told, 

When  the  sapling  sprang  so  free. 
Then  the  fierce  winds  came,  and  they  raging  tore 

The  hollow  limbs  away ; 
And  the  damp  moss  crept  from  the  earthy  floor 

Round  the  trunk,  time-worn  and  gray 


YOUNG    LADIES'  READER.  441 

14.  Tlie  young  oak  grew,  and  proudly  grew, 

For  its  roots  were  deep  and  strong; 
And  a  shadow  broad  on  the  earth  it  threw, 

And  the  sunlight  lingered  long 
On  its  glossy  leaf,  where  the  flickering  light 

Was  flung  to  the  evening  sky ; 
And  the  wild- bird  came  to  its  airy  hight. 

And  taught  her  young  to  fly. 

15.  In  acorn  time  came  the  truant  boy, 

With  a  wild  and  eager  look, 
And  he  marked  the  tree  with  a  wondering  joy, 

As  the  wind  the  great  limbs  shook. 
He  looked  where  the  moss  on  the  north  side  grew, 

The  gnarled  arms  outspread, 
The  solemn  shadow  the  huge  tree  threw, 

As  it  towered  above  his  head. 

16.  And  vague-like  fears  the  boy  surround, 

In  the  shadow  of  that  tree. 
So  growing  up  from  the  darksome  ground, 

Like  a  giant  mystery. 
His  heart  beats  quick  to  the  squirrel's  tread 

On  the  withered  leaf  and  dry. 
And  he  lifts  not  up  his  awe-struck  head. 

As  the  eddying  -vt^ind  sweeps  by. 

17.  And  regally  the  stout  oak  stood, 

In  its  vigor  and  its  pride ; 
A  monarch  owned  in  the  solemn  wood, 

With  a  scepter  spreading  wide. 
No  more  in  the  wintry  blast  to  bow, 

Or  rock  in  the  summer  breeze ; 
But,  draped  in  green,  or  star-like  snow, 

Reign  king  of  the  forest  trees. 
19* 


442  SAN  DEES'     NEW     SERIES. 

18.  And  a  thousand  years  it  firmly  grew, 

And  a  thousand  blasts  defied  ; 
And,  mighty  in  strength,  its  broad  arms  threw 

A  shadow  dense  and  wide. 
It  grew  where  the  rocks  were  bursting  out 

From  the  thin  and  heaving  soil — 
Where  the  ocean's  roar,  and  the  sailor's  shout, 

Were  mingled  in  wild  turmoil. 

19.  Where  the  far-off*  sound  of  the  restless  deep 

Came  up  with  a  booming  swell, 
And  the  white  foam  dashed  tq  the  rocky  steep ; 

But  it  loved  the  tumult  well. 
Then  its  huge  limbs  creaked  in  the  midnight  air. 

And  joined  in  the  rude  uproar ; 
For  it  loved  the  storm,  and  the  lightning's  glare, 

And  the  sound  of  the  breakers'  roar. 

20      The  bleaching  bones  of  the  sea-bird's  prey 

Were  heaped  on  the  rocks  below ; 
And  the  bald-head  eagle,  fierce  and  gray, 

Looked  off*  from  its  topmost  bough. 
Where  its  shadow  lay  on  the  quiet  wave 

The  light  boat  often  swung, 
And  the  stout  ship,  saved  from  the  ocean-grave, 

Her  cable  round  it  flung. 

21.      Change  came  to  the  mighty  things  of  earth, — 

Old  empires  passed  away ; 
Of  the  generations  that  had  birth, 

O  Death !  where,  where  were  they  1 
Yet  fresh  and  green  the  brave  oak  stood. 

Nor  dreamed  it  of  decay, 
Though  a  thousand  times  in  the  autumn  wood, 

Its  leaves  on  the  pale  earth  lay. 


YOUNG     LADIES'    READER.  443 

22.  A  sound  comes  down  in  the  forest  trees, 

An  echoing  from  the  hill ; 
It  floats  far  off  on  the  summer  breeze, 

And  the  shore  resounds  it  shrill : 
Lo  !  the  monarch  tree  no  more  shall  stand 

Like  a  watch-tower  of  the  main, — 
The  strokes  fall  thick  from  the  woodman's  hand, 

And  its  falling  shakes  the  plain. 

23.  The  stout  old  oak ! — 'T  was  a  worthy  tree, 

And  the  builder  marked  it  out ; 
And  he  smiled  its  angled  limbs  to  see, 

As  he  measured  the  trunk  about. 
Already  to  him  was  a  gallant  bark 

Careering  the  rolling  deep. 
And,  in  sunshine,  calm,  or  tempest  dark, 

Her  way  she  will  proudly  keep. 

24.  The  chisel  clicks,  and  the  hammer  rings, 

And  the  merry  jest  goes  round ; 
While  he  who  longest  and  loudest  sings, 

Is  the  stoutest  workman  found. 
With  jointed  rib,  and  treenailed  plank 

The  work  goes  gayly  on. 
And  light-spoke  oaths,  when  the  glass  they  drank, 

Are  heard  till  the  task  is  done. 

25.  She  sits  on  the  stocks,  the  skeleton  ship, 

With  her  oaken  ribs  all  bare. 
And  the  child  looks  up  with  parted  lip, 

As  it  gathers  fuel  there  ; 
With  brimless  hat,  the  bare-foot  boy 

Looks  round  with  strange  amaze, 
And  dreams  of  a  sailor's  life  of  joy 

Are  mingling  in  that  gaze. 


444  SANDERS'    NEW    SERIES. 

26.  With  graceful  waist  and  carvings  brave 

The  trim  hull  waits  the  sea  ; 
And  she  proudly  stoops  to  the  crested  wave, 

While  round  go  the  cheerings  three. 
Her  prow  swells  up  from  the  yeasty  deep, 

Where  it  plunged  in  foam  and  spray ; 
And  the  glad  waves  gathering  round  her  sweep. 

And  buoy  her  in  their  play. 

27.  Thou  wert  nobly  reared,  O  heart  of  oak  ! 

In  the  sound  of  the  ocean  roar, 
Where  the  surging  wave  o'er  the  rough  rock  brol;^ 

,  And  bellowed  along  the  shore. 
And  how  wilt  thou  in  the  storm  rejoice, 

With  the  wind  through  spar  and  shroud, 
To  hear  a  sound  like  the  forest  voice, 

When  the  blast  was  raging  loud  I 

28.  With  snow-white  sail,  and  streamer  gay, 

She  sits  like  an  ocean-sprite, 
Careering  on  in  her  trackless  way. 

In  sunshine  or  dark  midnight : 
Her  course  is  laid  with  fearless  skill, 

For  brave  hearts  man  the  helm  ; 
And  the  joyous  winds  her  canvas   fill, — 

Shall  the  wave  the  stout  ship  whelm  ? 

29.  On,  on  she  goes,  where  icebergs  roll 

Like  floating  cities  by  ; 
Where  meteors  flash  by  the  northern  pole. 

And  the  merry  dancers  fly ; 
Where  the  glittering  light  is  backward  flung 

From  icy  tower  and  dome, 
And  the  frozen  shrouds  are  gayly  hung 

With  gems  from  the  ocean  foam. 


YOUNG    LADIES'  READER.  445 

On  the  Indian  sea  was  her  shadow  cast, 

As  it  lay  like  molten  gold, 
And  her  pendant  shroud  and  towering  niast 

Seemed  twice  on  the  waters  told. 
The  idle  canvas   slowly  swung, 

As  the  spicy  breeze  went  by. 
And  strange,  rare  music  around  her  rung 

From  the  palm-tree  growing  nigh. 


31 .  O  gallant  ship  !  thou  didst  bear  with  thee 

The  gay  and  the  breaking  heart. 
And  weeping  eyes  looked  out  to  see 

Thy  white-spread  sails  depart. 
And,  when  the  rattling  casement  told 

Of  many  a  periled  ship, 
The  anxious  wife  her  babes  would  fold, 

And  pray  with  trembling  lip. 

32.  The  petrel  wheeled  in  her  stormy  flight ; 

The  wind  piped  shrill  and  high  ; 
On  the  topmast  sat  a  pale  blue  light, 

That  flickered  not  to  the  eye  : 
The  black  cloud  came  like  a  banner  down, 

And  down  came  the  shrieking  blast ; 
The  quivering  ship  on  her  beams  is  thrown, 

And  gone  are  helm  and  mast. 

33       Helmless,  but  on  before. the  gale 

She  plows  the  deep-troughed  wave : 
A  gurgling  sound — a  frenzied  wail — 

And  the  ship  hath  found  a  grave. 
And  thus  is  the  fate  of  the  acorn  told, 

That  fell  from  the  old  oak  tree. 
And  the  woodknd  Fays  in  the  frosty  mold 

Preserved  for  its  destiny. 


• 


446  SANDERS'     NEW     SERIES 


EXERCISE    CLII. 
FALLS   OF  NLiGARA. 

L.    H.   SIQOUKNEY. 

1.  Every  goc>d  Mussulman  considers  it  a  duty  to  perfornij 
once  in  his  life,  a  pilgrimage  to  the  shrine  of  his  Prophet  at 
Mecca ;  and  every  American  endeavors  to  make  at  least  one 
visit  to  the  Falls  of  Niagara.  But  the  most  devout  Osmanlee 
that  prostrates  himself  before  the  tomb  of  Mohammed,  can 
feel  no^xcess  of  fervor,  that  will  compare  with  the  sensations 
inspired,  even  in  a  mind  and  heart  of  ordinary  sensibility,  by 
the  sight  of  this  sublime  cataract, — the  wonder  of  the  Atlan- 
tic world, — the  glorious  temple  not  made  with  hands,  where 
the  incense  of  nature  rises  forever  toward  Nature's  God,  as 
the  compressed  waters  of  one  vast  inland  sea  pour  down  into 
another. 

2.  On  arriving  at  Niagara,  my  young  companion  and  my- 
self, notwithstanding  our  impatience,  had  sufficient  self-com- 
mand to  resolve  on  economizing  our  enjoyment,  or,  rather, 
lengthening  it  out,  in  seeing  Niagara  by  degrees:  reserving, 
for  the  last,  the  grand  view  that  comprises  the  whole  of  the 
Falls  at  once.  We  found  that  we  were  right,  and  that  the 
sum  of  our  delight  was  greater  in  consequence. 

3.  They  commence  very  gradually,  where  the  bottom  of 
the  river  first  becomes  slightly  rocky.  A  few  bells  of  white 
foam  are  scattered  far  apart  on  the  surface  of  the  dark  green 
water,  the  current  seeming  to  increase  in  velocity.  As  it 
proceeds,  the  foam-specks  become  larger  and  closer,  till  they 
run  into  long  wreaths.  Then  these  wreaths  unite,  and  become 
ridges ;  and  the  ridges  follow  each  other  so  closely,  that  they 
blend  together  into  high  wide  crests  of  foam,  that  stretch  from 
shore  to  shore :  crowding  one  upon  another,  hurrying  wildly 
on  into  those  before  them,  and  overtaken  by  those  behind. 
By  the  time  the  Rapids  have  passed  the  Cataract  Hotel,  scarcely 
a  streak  of  green  can  be  discovered  among  them,  so  covered 
is  the  whole  channel  with  spreading  masses  of  snowy  white. 


YOUNG    LADIES'  READEB.  447 

4.  Our  next  and  best  view  of  the  Rapids  was  from  the 
bridge  thrown  across  them  to  Bath  Island,  from  whence  there 
is  another  and  much  smaller  one  to  Ship  Island,  a  picturesque 
little  spot  covered  with  trees,  most  of  them  pines,  the  tallest 
of  which  slant  backward,  something  like  the  masts  of  a  ves-^ 
sel ;  and  there  is  one  with  the  stem  inclining  forward,  in  the 
manner  of  a  bowsprit,  its  lower  branches  almost  dipping  into 
the  foam.  We  sat  here  awhile  on  a  rustic  bench  beneath  the 
shade,  and  looked  up  and  down  and  all  around,  scarcely  Imow- 
ing  where  to  fix  our  eyes. 

5.  Our  islet  lay  trembling  amidst  the  turmoil  of  the  white 
and  maddening  waters  that  seemed  ready  every  moment,  as 
they  hurried  past,  to  tear  it  from  its  foundation,  and  sweep  it 
away  over  the  Falls.  Looking  up  the  stream  we  saw  an  ocean 
of  froth,  whirling  and  tumbling  amid  the  sunken  reefs  ;  while 
innumerable  torrents  leaped  over  the  ledges,  or,  like  the  jet 
of  a  vast  fountain,  rebounded  from  the  rocks,  and  danced  up, 
high  and  sparkling,  in  the  bright  summer  air.  But  the  rocks, 
though  they  enraged  the  waters  to  fury,  could  not  arrest  their 
force.  On  they  came,  terrific  in  all  their  velocity ;  roaring, 
rushing,  surging,  flying  along  as  if  madly  eager  to  hasten  their 
headlong  plunge  down  the  tremendous  precipice. 

6.  It  was  here  I  first  experienced  those  indescribable  sensa- 
tions of  delight,  overpowered  by  feelings  of  awe  and  rever- 
ence, without  which  few  have  looked  on  Niagara.  My  eyes 
were  filled  with  tears.  I  could  not  speak.  I  felt  as  if  the 
spirit  of  the  Creator  was  before  me,  and,  almost  in  His  own 
divine  form,  I  seemed  to  hear  His  holy  voice,  and  feared  to 
interrupt  it. 

7.  Retracing  our  steps,  we  again  crossed  the  bridges,  and 
then  descended  a  high,  steep  bank,  which,  when  halfway  down, 
brought  us  in  view  of  the  whole  of  the  American  Falls :  the 
flood,  on  arriving  near  the  pitch  of  the  precipitous  ledge, 
branching  off  to  supply  a  whole  crescent  of  cataracts.  Roll- 
ing over  the  summits  of  these  clifis,  and  pouring  down  in 
vast  white  sheets  tinted  with  the  liveliest  green,  we  saw  the 


448  SANDERS'  NEW    SERIES. 

highest  and  most  beautiful  of  the  Falls  descending  from  the 
main  branch  of  the  Rapids :  light,  feathery  flakes  of  foam 
springing  off  from  the  sides  of  the  torrent,  and  trickling  in 
silver  rills  over  the  dark  and  broken  masses  of  stone,  from 
whose  crevices,  forever  wet,  grew  out  such  shrubs  and  plants 
as  love  to  climb  about  the  rocks,  and  delight  in  perpetual 
moisture. 

8.  When  my  thoughts  and  feelings  began  to  take  a  definite 
form,  my  only  regret  was,  that  every  being  that  I  loved, 
every  one,  indeed,  that  I  knew,  was  not  there,  at  that  moment, 
to  look  at  Niagara.  It  seemed  like  something  too  grand,  too 
beautiful,  to  last ;  like  a  magnificent  scene  thai  would  pass 
away  while  we  were  yet  gazing  on  it.  I  could  imagine  no- 
thing more  charming  than  to  live  in  its  immediate  neighbor- 
hood for  at  least  a  year ;  seeing  it  under  all  its  different  as- 
pects ;  in  sunshine  and  in  tempest ;  glittering  beneath  the 
bright  sky  of  summer,  and  darkening  beneath  a  canopy  of 
heavy  storm-clouds ;  the  lightning  flashing  across  its  ever- 
rolling  torrents,  and  the  thunder  of  upper  air  uniting  with  that 
whose  deep  tones  ascend  forever  from  the  caverned  recesses 
at  its  feet. 

9.  I  thought  how  it  must  look,  tinted  with  the  crimson  and 
purple  clouds  that  curtain  the  close  of  an  autumnal  day, 
"when  the  clear  cold  evening's  declining,"  and  the  fantastic 
trees  of  these  islands  and  these  rocks  come  out  in  the  varied 
and  glowing  colors  of  that  gorgeous  season, — colors  scarcely 
less  splendid  than  those  of  the  sunset  sky.  And  in  winter, 
when  it  has  all  its  beauties  to  itself,  when  the  trees  are  de 
nuded,  the  rock-plants  withered,  masses  of  ice  lying  along  the 
shores,  and  the  country  round  presenting  one  vast  desert  of 
snow ;  even  in  winter  Niagara  must  still  be  beautiful  in  the 
crystal  pendants  hung  on  the  rocks  and  trees  by  its  freezing 
spray ;  and  sublime  in  the  overpowering  force,  with  which  it 
struggles  against  the  ice  that  vainly  essays  to  block  up  its 
progress. 

10.  Nature  is  always  true  to  herself,  and  the  land  scenery 


YOUNG     LADiES'     READEE.  449 

about  Niagara  is  in  unison  with  that  of  the  water.  Tlie  rocks, 
chiefly  of  brown  sandstone  and  blue  limestone,  are  lofty,  wild, 
and  rugged.  Some  are  nearly  perpendicular,  some  slope 
back,  and  others  project  forward,  impending  over  the  raging 
waters.  In  some  places  they  are  deeply  honeycombed  by 
the  incessant  action  of  the  spray.  The  trees  and  wild  vines 
that  grow  from  the  fissures  of  these  rifled  walls,  appear  to 
give  as  well  as  to  receive  support,  clasping  their  tangled  and 
dripping  roots  and  their  twining  branches  against  the  masses 
of  cracked,  disjointed  stone,  which  seemed  already  loosened 
in  their  sockets.  Even  a  lonely  cluster  of  wild-flowers  some- 
times glows  beneath  the  shadow  of  an  overhanging  block  of 
stone. 

11.  The  solemn  coloring  of  these  gigantic  rocks,  compris- 
ing all  the  darkest  shades  of  brown  and  gray,  forms  a  fine 
contrast  to  the  flowing  masses  of  dazzling  white  and  lovely 
green,  to  which  no  pencil  has  ever  yet  done  justice.  The  green 
of  the  Niagara  Falls  is,  indeed,  like  nothing  that  can  be  seen 
elsewhere.  It  is  not  the  green  of  the  sea  in  fathom  water, 
nor  the  deep  blue  green  of  the  lakes  ;  neither  is  it  the  reflec- 
tion of  the  trees  on  the  banks.  It  is  "  something  more  ex- 
quisite still,"  a  color  so  beautiful,  so  peculiar,  that  no  art  can 
successfully  imitate  it.  Imagine  vast  and  ever-falling  torrents 
of  dissolved  alabaster,  shaded  with  liquid  emerald  slightly 
blended  with  molten  turquoise,  and  you  may  form  some 
faint  idea  of  the  tinting  of  those  transcendent  waters. 

12.  Amid  the  numerous  beauties  of  the  Falls,  the  spray  is 
not  the  least.  It  rises  in  light  misty  clouds  from  the  turmoil 
of  conflicting  eddies,  and  the  vast  bed  of  foam  that  rolls 
around  their  feet,  and  dances  upward  in  a  thousand  jets, — the 
liquid  dust  of  the  cataract,  the  white  smoke  of  this  volcano 
of  raging  waters.  It  is  said  that  in  a  clear  day  the  smoke  of 
Niagara  may  be  seen  at  Buffalo.  We  were  not  so  fortunate 
as  to  witness  the  rainbow  that,  in  a  certain  position  of  the 
sunlight,  is  so  frequently  beheld  upon  the  mist-clouds  that  as- 
cend from  the  Horse-shoe  Fall.     But  we  looked  down  upon 


450  SANDEBS'  NEW    SEEIES. 

several  small  horizontal  rainbows  lying  flat  upon  the  surface 
of  the  froth  beneath  the  rock  on  which  we  stood. 

13.  The  depth,  to  which  the  Falls  descend,  can  not  be  as- 
certained, as  the  rocks  and  caverns  at  their  feet  are  only  indi- 
cated by  the  vast  body  of  surging  water  that  whirls  and  roars 
among  them,  and  that  after  raging,  seething,  smoking,  flying 
upward  and  downward,  and  tumbling  into  a  thousand  varied 
forms,  gradually  resolves  itself  into  long  white  reefs  and 
ripples,  diminishing  in  magnitude  and  contiguity,  till  they 
scatter  into  snowy  bells  and  float  oflT  upon  the  dark  green 
surface  of  the  river  below. 

14.  We  gazed  with  unwearied  and  increasing  interest,  con- 
tinually discovering  new  beauties.  In  consequence,  perhaps, 
of  the  state  of  the  atmosphere,  or  the  direction  of  the  wind, 
the  sound  of  the  Falls  was  less  loud  than  we  had  anticipated. 
There  were,  in  fact,  two  sounds  perpetually  accompanying 
each  other,  and  seeming  like  the  tenor  and  bass  in  music.  One 
sound  was  that  of  an  everlasting  pouring  and  splashing ;  the 
other  was  a  low  and  awful  thunder-tone  that  forever  mur- 
mured far  down  beneath  us,  coming  up  from  the  caverned 
recesses  of  the  sunken  rocks,  and  shaking  the  ground  on  which 
we  stood.  I  think  there  is  some  exaggeration  in  most  re- 
ports of  the  great  distance,  at  which  the  Falls  of  Niagara  can 
be  heard. 

15.  Though  prepared  for  the  grandeur  of  Niagara,  I  had 
not  anticipated  its  surpassing  beauty.  It  was,  indeed,  a  divine 
picture  painted  by  an  Omnipotent  Artist.  All  that  had  been 
done  by  His  hand  was  perfect ;  the  design,  the  coloring,  the 
accessories, — not  a  touch  could  be  added  to  improve  it.  The 
water,  the  rocks,  the  trees, — all  harmonized,  all  combined  to 
produce  a  scene  unequaled  in  the  universe, — ^graceful  in  its 
wildness,  lovely  In  its  strength,  beautiful  in  its  terrific  and 
resistless  power. 


YOUN^G     LADIES*    READER.  451 


EXERCISE    CLIII. 
ORIGIl^  OF  THE  WHITE,  THE  RED,  AND  THE  BLACK  MEN. 

A    SEMINOLE    TRADITION. 

WASHINGTON  IRVING. 

1.  When  the  Floridas  were  erected  into  a  territory  of  the 
United  States,  one  of  the  earliest  cares  of  the  governor,  Wil- 
liam P.  Duval,  was  directed  to  the  instruction  and  civilization  of 
the  natives.  For  this  purpose  he  called  a  meeting  of  the  chiefs, 
in  which  he  informed  them  of  the  wish  of  their  Great  Father  at 
Washington,  that  they  should  have  schools  and  teachers  among 
them,  and  that  their  children  should  be  instructed  like  the  chil- 
dren of  white  men.  The  chiefs  listened  with  their  customary  si- 
lence and  decorum  to  a  long  speech,  setting  forth  the  advantages 
that  would  accrue  to  them  from  this  measure,  and  when  he  had 

..^  concluded,  begged  the  interval  of  a  day  to  deliberate  on  it. 

2.  On  the  following  day,  a  solemn  convocation  was  held, 
at  which  one  of  the  chiefs  addressed  the  governor  in  the  name 
of  all  the  rest.  "  My  brother,"  said  he,  "  we  have  been  think- 
ing over  the  proposition  of  our  ^3!reat  Father  at  Washington, 
to  send  teachers  and  set  up  schools  among  us.  We  are  very 
thankful  for  the  interest  he  takes  in  our  welfare ;  but  after 
much  deliberation,  have  concluded  to  decline  his  offer.  What 
will  do  very  well  for  white  men,  will  not  do  for  red  men. 

3.  "  I  know  you  white  men  say  we  all  come  from  the  same 
father  and  mother,  but  you  are  mistaken.  We  have  a  tra- 
dition handed  down  from  our  forefathers,  and  we  believe  it, 
that  the  Great  Spirit,  v/-hen  he  undertook  tojnake  men,  made 
the  black  man  ;  it  was  his  first  attempt,  and  pretty  well  for  a 
beginning ;  but  he  soon  saw  he  had  bungled ;  so  he  deter- 
mined to  try  his  hand  again.  He  did  so,  and  made  the  red 
man.  He  liked  him  much  better  than  the  black  man,  but 
Btill  he  was  not  exactly  what  he  wanted.  So  he  tried  once 
more,  and  made  the  white  man,  and  then  he  was  satisfied. 
You  see,  therefore,  that  you  were  made  last,  and  that  is  the 
reason  I  call  you  my  youngest  brother. 


452  SANDEBS       NEW     SERIES. 

4.  "  When  the  Great  Spirit  had  made  the  three  men,  he 
called  them  together  and  showed  them  three  boxes.  The  first 
was  filled  with  books,  and  maps,  and  papers ;  the  second  with 
bows  and  arrows,  knives  and  tomahawks ;  the  third  with 
spades,  axes,  hoes,  and  hammers.  '  These,  my  sons,'  said  he, 
'  are  the  means  by  which  you  are  to  live  ;  choose  among  them 
according  to  your  fancy.' 

5.  "  The  white  man,  being  the  favorite,  had  the  first  choice. 
He  passed  by  the  box  of  working-tools  without  notice ;  but 
when  he  came  to  the  weapons  for  war  and  hunting,  he  stopped 
and  looked  hard  at  them.  The  red  man  trembled,  for  he  had 
set  his  heart  upon  that  box.  The  white  man,  however,  after 
looking  upon  it  for  a  moment,  passed  on,  and  chose  the  box 
of  books  and  papers.  The  red  man's  turn  came  next ;  and 
you  may  be  sure  he  seized  with  joy  upon  the  bows  and  arrows, 
and  tomahawks.  As  to  the  black  man,  he  had  no  choice  left, 
but  to  put  up  with  the  box  of  tools. 

6.  "  From  this  it  is  clear  that  the  Great  Spirit  intended  the 
white  man  should  learn  to  read  and  write  ;  to  understand  all 
about  the  moon  and  stars ;  and  to  make  every  thing,  even 
rum  and  whisky.  That  the  red  man  should  be  a  first-rate 
hunter,  and  a  mighty  warrior ;  but  he  was  not  to  learn  any 
thing  from  books,  as  the  Great  Spirit  had  not  given  him  any  ; 
nor  was  he  to  make  rum  and  whisky,  lest  he  should  kill  him- 
self with  drinking.  As  to  the  black  man,  as  he  had  nothing 
but  working-tools,  it  was  clear  he  was  to  work  for  the  white 
and  red  man,  which  he  has  continued  to  do. 

7.  "  We  must  go  according  to  the  wishes  of  the  Great . 
kSpirit,  or  we  shall  get  into  trouble.     To  know  how  to  read 

and  write,  is  very  good  for  white  men,  but  very  bad  for  red 
men.  It  makes  white  men  better,  but  red  men  worse.  Some 
of  the  Creeks  and  Cherokees  learned  to  read  and  write,  and 
they  are  the  greatest  rascals  among  all  the  Indians. 

8.  "They  went  on  to  Washington,  and  said  they  were  going 
to  see  their  Great  Father,  to  talk  about  the  good  of  the  na- 
tion.    And  when  they  got  there,  they  all  wrote  upon  a  little 


YOUNG     LADIES'  READER.  453 

piece  of  paper,  without  the  nation  at  home  knowing  any  thing 
about  it.  And  the  first  thing  the  nation  at  home  knew  of  the 
matter,  they  were  called  together  by  the  Indian  agent,  who 
showed  them  a  little  piece  of  paper,  which  he  told  them  was 
a  treaty,  which  their  brethren  had  made  in  their  name,  with 
their  Great  Father  at  Washington. 

9.  ^^  And  as  they  knew  not  what  a  treaty  was,  he  held  up 
the  little  piece  of  paper,  and  they  looked  under  it,  and  lo !  it 
covered  a  great  extent  of  country,  and  they  found  that  their 
brethren,  by  knowing  how  to  read  and  write,  had  sold  their 
houses,  and  their  lands,  and  the  graves  of  their  fathers  ;  and 
that  the  white  man,  by  knowing  how  to  read  and  write,  had 
gained  them.  Tell  our  Great  Father  at  Washington,  there- 
fore, that  we  are  very  sorry  we  can  not  receive  teachers 
among  us;  for  reading  and  writing,  though  very  good  for 
white  men,  is  very  bad  for  Indians." 


EXERCISE    CLIV. 
THE  OTTAWA  MAID. 


OEOKGDB  C0LT3ir. 

1.     What  though  a  daughter  of  the  Sun, 
And  rather  of  the  twilight  born 
Than  of  the  flushed  and  rosy  mom, 
That  maid  with  dusk  complexion  shone ; 
Yet  was  its  hue  as  purely  clear 
As  heaven,  when  first  the  stars  appeal ; 
And  all  her  form  had  Nature's  art 
So  molded  light  that  every  part 
From  Naiad*  foot  to  chiseled  face, 
Seemed  conscious  of  a  perfect  grace ; 
While  her  untaught,  untainted  soul 
Informed,  inspired,  illumed  the  whole, 

*  Na'-iad,  (na'-yad)  a  water-nymph. 


464  SANDERS'    NEW    SERIES. 

And  flowed  through  eyes  as  darklj  bright 
As  e'er  were  lit  with  heavenly  light 
At  Beauty's  triumph,  Love's  fond  hour, 
In  court  or  cottage,  hall  or  bower. 

2.  And  well  her  simple  Indian  dress 
Became  that  airy  loveliness ; 

The  fawn-skin  frock,  so  softly  dressed, 
Close  folded  o'er  her  swelling  breast, 
And  gently  bound  her  waist  about. 
By  belt  with  purple  wampum  wrought, 
Thence  falling  short,  in  graceful  ease. 
Like  Highland  kirtle  to  her  knees ; 
And  well  the  rounded  limb  that  graced 
Her  crimson-broidered  leggins,  laced 
The  beaded  moccasins  to  meet 
Upon  those  fairy-fashioned  feet, — 
These  soothly  of  a  youth  had  told, 
Of  delicate  and  maiden  mold, 
But  that  the  smooth  and  raven  tresses, 
Descending  low  in  soft  caresses. 
And  rising  breast,  howe'er  concealed. 
That  form  a  maiden  true  revealed. 
As  on  her  arm  there  hung  a  bow 
Of  polished  length  and  ebon  glow, 
She  might  have  seemed,  that  forest  child, 
An  Indian  Dian,  chaste  and  wild ! 

3.  As  stood  she  there,  a  chieftain's  plume 
Advanced  amid  the  forest's  bloom. 
Unseen  by  her,  in  fixed  delight 

The  warrior  viewed  that  fairer  sight. 
Than  e'er  he  deemed  could  greet  his  eyes, 
Save  in  the  Indian's  Paradise. 
At  last  she  saw,  and,  half  afraid. 
Prepared  for  flight.     "  Fly  not,"  he  said : 


YOUNa     LADIES'    READEB.  455 

"  The  flowers  the  maiden's  fingers  twine 
Less  lovely  than  the  maiden  shine. 
Say,  doth  the  dark-eyed  Ottawa 
Braid  them  to  deck  her  bridal  day  ?" 
Upon  her  cheek  the  deeper  glow 
Drank  up  its  smiles : — "  N6,  chieftain,  n6 ! 
But  when,  among  the  Ottawa  homes 
The  wise, — the  brave, — Tecumseh  comes, 
Whom  all  the  red  men  love  to  hear, — 
And  runners  say  that  he  is  near, — 
Then " 

4.  "  What,"  he  cried,  "  if  I  were  he  V 
She  gazed  on  him  more  timidly, — 
Shrank  backward, — then,  with  maiden  grace, 
Approached,  but  looked  not  in  his  face  : 

"  Why,  then  a  maid  of  Pontiac's  race 

Presents  these  Daughters  of  the  Spring 

To  cheer  him,  faint  with  journeying  ;" 

She  said, — and  with  a  gentle  breath, 

Much  like  a  sigh,  the  flowery  wreath 

Was  laid  upon  Tecumseh's  arm. 

"  By  this  clear  stream,  in  sunlight  warm," 

She  added  with  a  blush  and  smile, 

"  They  have  been  growing  all  the  while. 

That  they  might  greet,  with  lovely  eyes, 

The  Eagle  of  the  Southern  skies." 

5.  "  Nor  doth  the  maiden,"  he  replied, 

"  By  day  the  lingering  moments  number, 
Till  sits  a  lover  by  her  side  ? 

Sees  she  no  warrior  in  her  slumber  ?" 
"  Omeena's  thoughts,"  she  lisped,  with  tone 
Like  running  brooks,  "  are  all  her  own  : 
In  dreams  Omeena  is  alone." 
"  ITiese  flowers,"  said  he,  their  fragrance  smelling, 

"  Are  sweet,  but  sweeter,  maiden,  bo 


466  SANDEllS'   NEW    SERIES. 

Flowers,  where  the  Shawnee  hath  his  dwellmg ! 
Say, — will  the  Ottawa  go  and  see  f 

6.  "  These  grow  around  her  father's  home  : 
Do  such  not  have  a  fairer  bloom  ? 

And  flowers  upon  her  mother's  grave — 
Can  any  else  so  sweetly  wave  ?" 
"  But,"  cried  the  chief,  confusedly, 
As  rose  to  his  her  speaking  eye, — 

"  Tecumseh  is  the  greatest  brave. 
His  hands  are  red  with  foeman's  slaughter !" 
"  Omeena  is  great  Pontiac's  daughter  !" 
Was  her  reply.     "  'T  is  Pontiac's  name 
Leads  me  to  conflict,  glory,  fame, — 
That  star  shall  be  Tecumseh's  guide  ! 
Will  Pontiac's  daughter  be  his  bride  1" 

7.  "  Chieftain !"  exclaimed  she,  pointing  high, 
"  See  yonder  cloud  climb  up  the  sky. 
And  hark !  the  song-birds  will  not  sing  : 
They  cower  in  fear  each  shivering  wing. 
But  lo  !  yon  eagle's  rising  form ! 

He  hastes  alone  to  meet  the  storm. 
He  cares  not  for  his  aerie  past. 
So  he  may  ride  the  rolling  blast 

8.  Go,  warrior ;  when  the  sky  is  clear. 
The  Ottawa  maid  will  meet  him  here. 
Go — when  the  pale  face  dwells  no  more 
By  Wabash  tide  or  Huron's  shore, 
Then  to  her  mother's  grave  she  '11  bring 
Young  flowers,  her  last,  sweet  offering. 
And  in  the  Eagle's  aerie  sing  !" 
And  ending  thus,  his  hand  she  took, 
Softly,  and  with  a  soul-lit  look. 

Though  timid  love  her  virgin  bosom  shook. 


YOUN-G     LADIES'     READER.  457 

EXERCISE    CLV. 

SONG   OF   THE  LIGHTNING. 

G.  w.  ourrEB, 
1.     (")  Away,  away  through  the  sightless  air, 

Stretch  forth  your  iron  thread, — 
For  I  would  not  dim  my  sandals  fair 

With  the  dust  ye  tamely  tread  ; 
Aye,  rear  it  up  on  its  million  piers, — 

Let  it  reach  the  world  around, 
And  the  journey  ye  make  in  a  hundred  years, 

I  '11  clear  at  a  single  bound. 

2  Though  I  can  not  toil  like  the  groaning  slave 

Ye  have  fettered  with  iron  skill, 
To  ferry  you  over  the  boundless  wave, 

Or  grind  in  the  noisy  mill ; 
What  is  his  giant  strength  and  speed  *? 

But  a  single  shaft  of  mine 
Would  give  that  monster  a  flight  indeed 

To  the  depths  of  the  ocean  brine. 

3  No,  no,  I  'm  the  spirit  of  light  and  love, — 

To  my  unseen  hand  't  is  given 
To  pencil  the  ambient  clouds  above. 

And  polish  the  stars  of  heaven. 
I  scatter  the  golden  rays  of  fire 

On  the  horizon  far  below ; 
And  deck  the  skies  where  storms  expire. 

With  my  red  and  dazzling  glow. 

4.     The  deepest  recesses  of  earth  are  mine,— 
I  traverse  its  silent  core  ; 
Around  me  the  starry  diamonds  shine, 
And  the  sparkling  fields  of  ore  ; 
20 


468  SANDERS*    NEW   SERIES. 

And  oft  I  leap  from  my  throne  on  high 
To  the  depths  of  the  ocean's  caves, 

Where  the  fadeless  forests  of  coral  lie, 
Far  under  the  world  of  waves. 

5.  My  being  is^ike  a  lovely  thought 

That  dwells  in  a  sinless  breast ; 
A  tone  of  music  that  ne'er  was  caught, — 

A  word  that  was  ne'er  expressed. 
I  burn  in  the  bright  and  burnished  halls 

Where  the  fountains  of  sunlight  play, — 
Where  the  curtain  of  gold  and  opal  falls 

O'er  the  scene  of  the  dying  day. 

6.  With  a  glance  I  cleave  the  sky  in  twain, 

I  light  it  with  a  glare, 
When  fall  the  boding  drops  of  rain, 

Through  the  darkly  curtained  air : 
The  rock-built  towers,  the  turrets  gray, 

The  piles  of  a  thousand  years, 
Have  not  the  strength  of  potter's  clay, 

Before  my  glittering  spears. 

7.  From  the  Alps  or  the  highest  Andes'  crag, 

From  the  peaks  of  eternal  snow, 
The  dazzling  folds  of  my  fiery  flag 

Gleam  o'er  the  world  below  ; 
The  earthquake  heralds  my  coming  power, 

The  avalanche  bounds  away, 
And  the  howling  storms,  at  midnight  hour 

Proclaim  my  kingly  sway. 

8.  Ye  tremble  when  my  legions  ^me, — 

When  my  quivering  sword  leaps  out 
O'er  the  hills  that  echo  my  thunder  drum. 
And  rend  with  joyous  shout ; 


YOUNa     LADIES'    READEK.  459 

Ye  quail  on  the  land  or  upon  the  seas, 

Ye  stand  in  your  fear  aghast, 
To  see  me  burn  the  stalwart  trees. 

Or  shiver  the  stately  mast. 

9.     The  hieroglyphs  on  the  Persian  wall. 

The  letters  of  high  command, 
Where  the  Prophet  read  the  Tyrant's  fall, 

"Were  traced  with  my  burning  hand ; 
And  oft  in  fire  have  I  wrote  since  then. 

What  angry  Heaven  decreed, — 
But  the  sealed  eyes  of  sinful  men 

Were  all  too  blind  to  read. 

10.     At  last,  the  hour  of  light  is  here. 

And  kings  no  more  shall  blind, 
Nor  bigots  crush,  with  craven  fear, 

The  forward  march  of  mind. 
The  words  of  truth  and  freedom's  rays 

Are  from  my  pinions  hurled. 
And  soon  the  sun  of  better  days 

Shall  rise  upon  the  world. 

•11.     (")  But  away,  away  through  the  sightless  air, 

Stretch  forth  your  iron  thread, — 
For  I  would  not  soil  my  sandals  fair 

With  the  dust  ye  tamely  tread  : 
Aye,  rear  it  up  on  its  million  piers, — 

Let  it  circle  the  world  around. 
And  the  journey  ye  make  in  a  hundred  years 

L'U  clear  at  a  single  bound. 

Questions. — 1.  With  what  modulation  of  voice  should  this  piece 
be  read  ?  See  notation  marks,  first  and  last  stanzas.  2.  To  what  ia 
reference  made  in  the  ninth  stanza  ?     See  Daniel  v.  25. 


460  SANDERS'  NEW    SERIES. 


EXERCISE    CLVI. 

1.  Ar'-nold  Wink'-el-reed,  a  Swiss  patriot,  in  the  battle  of  Sempach, 
July  9,  1386,  by  the  sacrifice  of  his  life,  enabled  his  countrymen  to 
defeat  the  Austrian  troops.  In  order  to  break  the  Austrian  ranks,  he 
rushed  on  them,  grasped  several  lances,  and  heedless  of  the  thrusts, 
bore  them  to  the  ground.  His  countrymen  rushed  through  the  open- 
ing thus  made,  and  won  the  victory. 

2.  Sir  Henry  Vane,  one  of  the  early  governors  of  Massachusetts, 
on  his  return  to  England,  rendered  himself  conspicuous  by  his  public 
acts.  On  one  occasion,  on  account  of  his  advocacy  for  a  Republican 
government,  he  was  falsely  accused  of  treason,  condemned,  and  be- 
headed, June  14,  1662. 

3.  Lord  Russell,  an  English  nobleman  of  acknowledged  probity, 
sincerity,  and  private  worth,  was  unjustly  condemned  for  treason, 
and  beheaded,  July  21,  1683. 


BEAUTY,— THE   MARK   GOD  SETS  UPON  VIRTUE. 

RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON. 

1.  The  high  and  divine  beauty  which  can  be  loved  without 
effeminacy,  is  that  which  is  found  in  combination  with  the  hu- 
man will,  and  never  separate.  Beauty  is  the  mark  God  sets 
upon  virtue.  Every  natural  action  is  graceful.  Every  heroic 
act  is  also  decent,  and  causes  the  place  and  the  bystanders  » 
shine.  We  are  taught  by  great  actions  that  the  universe  Js 
the  property  of  every  individual'  in  it.  f 

2.  Every  rational  creature  has  all  nature  for  his  dowry  and 
estate.  It  is  his,  if  he  will.  He  may  divest  himself  of  it ;  he 
may  creep  into  a  comer,  and  abdicate  his  kingdom,  as  most 
men  do ;  but  he  is  entitled  to  the  world  by  Jiis  constitution. 
In  proportion  to  the  energy  of  his  thought  and'  ^ill,  he  takes 
up  the  world  into  himself.  "  All  those  things,  foi^hich  men 
plow,  build,  or  sail,  obey  virtue,"  said  an  ancientf  historian. 
*'  The  winds  and  the  waves  are  always  on  the  side  of  the 
ablest  navigators."  So  are  the  sun,  and  moon,  and  all  the 
stars  of  heaven. 


YOUNG    LADIES'  READEE.  461 

3.  When  a  noble  act  is  done, — ^perchance  in  a  scene  of  great 
natural  beauty, — when  Leonidas  and  his  three  hundred  mar- 
tyrs consume  one  day  in  dying,  and  the  sun  and  moon  come 
each  and  look  at  them  once  in  the  steep  defile  of  Thermop- 
ylas ;  when  Arnold  Winkelried\  in  the  high  Alps,  under  the 
shadow  of  the  avalanche,  gathers  in  his  side  a  sheaf  of  Aus- 
trian spears  to  break  the  line  for  his  comrades  ;  are  not  these 
heroes  entitled  to  add  the  beauty  of  the  scene  to  the  beauty 
of  the  deed? 

4.  When  the  bark  of  Columbus  nears  the  shore  of  America, 
— before  it,  the  beach  lined  with  savages  fleeing  out  of  all  their 
huts  of  cane, — the  sea  behind,  and  the  purple  mountains  of  the 
Indian  Archipelago  around,  can  we  separate  the  man  from, 
the  living  picture'?  Does  not  the  New  World  clothe  his 
form  with  her  palm-groves  and  savannas  as  fit  drapery  1 

5.  Ever  does  natural  beauty  steal  in  iike  air,  and  envelop 
great  actions.  When  Sir  Henry  Vane^  was  dragged  up  the 
Tower-hill,  sitting  on  a  sled,  to  suffer  death,  as  the  champion 
of  the  English  laws,  one  of  the  multitude  cried  out :  "  Y©« 
never  sat  on  so  glorious  a  seat."  Charles  II.,  to  intimidate 
the  citizens  of  London,  caused  the  patriot,  Lord  Russell,'  to  be 
drawn  in  an  open  coach,  through  the  principal  streets  of  the 
city,  on  his  way  to  the  scaffold.  "  But,"  to  use  the  simple 
Narrative  of  his  biographer,  "  the  multitude  imagined  they  saw 
Liberty  and  Virtue  sitting  by  his  side." 

'6.  In  private  places,  among  sordid  objects,  an  act  of  truth 
or  heroism  seems  at  once  to  draw  to  itself  the  sky  as  its  tem- 
ple,— the  sun  as  its  candle.  Nature  stretches  out  her  arms 
to  embrace  man,  only  let  his  thoughts  be  of  equal  greatness. 
Willingly  does  she  follow  his  steps  with  the  rose  and  the  vio- 
let, and  bend  her  lines  of  grandeur  and  grace  to  the  decoration 
of  her  dailing  child.  Only  let  his  thoughts  be  of  equal  scope, 
and  the  frame  will  suit  the  picture.  A  virtuous  man  is  in 
unison  with  her  wdrks,  and  makes  the  central  figure  of  the 
visible  sphere. 


462  SANDEKS'     NEW     SERIES, 


EXERCISE    CLVIl. 
DUTIES   OF   AMERICAN   CITIZENS. 

FRANCIS   WAYLAND. 

1.  Whatever  we  would  do  for  our  country  must  be  done 
for  THE  PEOPLE.  Great  results  can  never  be  effected  in  any 
other  way.  Specially  is  this  the  case  under  a  republican 
constitution.  Here  the  people  are  not  only  the  real,  but  the 
acknowledged,  fountain  of  all  authority.  They  make  the 
laws,  and  they  control  the  execution  of  them.  They  direct 
the  Senate,  they  overawe  the  cabinet ;  and,  hence,  it  is  the 
moral  and  intellectual  character  of  the  people,  which  must 
give  to  the  "  very  age  and  body  of  our  institutions  their  form 
and  pressure." 

2.  So  long  as  ouf  people  remain  virtuous  and  intelligent, 
our  government  will  remain  stable.  While  they  clearly  per- 
ceive, and  honestly  decree  justice,  our  laws  will  be  whole- 
some, and  the  principles  of  our  constitution  will  commend 
themselves  everywhere  to  the  common  sense  of  man.  But, 
should  they  become  ignorant  and  vicious ;  should  their  de- 
cisions become  the  dictates  of  passion  and  venality,  rather 
than  of  reason  and  of  right,  that  moment  are  our  liberties  at 
an  end  ;  and,  glad  to  escape  from  the  despotism  of  millions, 
we  shall  flee  for  shelter  to  the  despotism  of  one.  Then  will 
the  world's  last  hope  be  extinguished,  and  darkness  brood  for 
ages  over  the  whole  human  race. 

3.  Not  less  important  is  moral  and  intellectual  cultivation^ 
if  we  would  prepare  our  country  to  stand  forth  the  bulwark 
of  the  liberties  of  the  world.  Should  the  time  to  try  men's 
souls  ever  come  again,  our  reliance  under  God  must  be,  as  it 
was  before,  on  the  character  of  our  citizens.  Oflr  soldiers 
must  be  men  whose  bosoms  have  swollen  with  the  conscious 
dignity  of  freemen,  and  who,  firmly  trusting  in  a  righteous 
God,  can  look  unmoved  on  embattled  nations  leagued  to- 
gether for  purposes  of  wrong. 


YOUNG    LADIES'     READER.  463 


4.  When  the  means  of  education  everywhere  throughout 
our  country,  shall  be  free  as  the  air  we  breathe  ;  when  every 
family  shall  have  its  Bible, — then,  and  not  till  then,  shall  we 
exert  our  proper  influence  on  the  cause  of  man ;  then,  and 
not  till  then,  shall  we  be  prepared  to  stand  forth  between  the 
oppressor  and  the  oppressed,  and  say  to  the  proud  wave  of 
domination  :  Thus  far  shalt  thou  come,  and  no  farther. 

5.  The  paramount  duty  of  every  American  citizen  is,  to 
put  in  requisition  every  possible  means  for  elevating  univer- 
sally the  intellectual  and  moral  character  of  our  people.  The 
intellectual  stores  of  the  English  language  are  open  before 
every  man,  in  which  he  may  find  all  the  knowledge  that  he 
will  ever  need  to  form  his  opinions  upon  any  subjects,  on 
which  it  will  be  his  duty  to  decide.  A  man  who  can  not  read 
is  a  being  not  contemplated  by  the  genius  of  our  constitution. 
Where  the  right  of  suffrage  is  extended  to  all,  he  is  certainly 
a  dangerous  member  of  the  community,  who  has  not  qualified 
himself  to  exercise  it. 

6.  But,  though  the  entire  mass  of  our  population  should  be 
intellectually  educated,  still  only  a  part,  and  by  far  the  least 
important  part  of  our  work,  will  have  been  accomplished. 
We  have  increased  the  power  of  the  people,  but  we  have  left 
it  doubtful  in  what  direction  that  power  will  be  exerted.  We 
have  made  it  certain  that  a  public  opinion  will  be  formed ; 
but  whether  that  opinion  shall  be  healthful  or  destructive,  is 
yet  to  be  decided. 

7.  We  have  cut  our  channels,  by  which  knowledge  may  be 
conveyed  to  every  individual  of  our  mighty  population ;  it 
remains  for  us,  by  means  of  these  very  channels,  to  instill 
into  every  bosom  an  unshaken  reverence  for  the  principles  of 
right.  Having  gone  this  far,  we  must  go  still  farther ;  for 
we  must  be  aware,  that  the  tenures  by  which  our  liberties  are 
held,  can  never  be  secure,  unless  moral,  keep  pace  with  intel- 
lectual, education. 


464  SANDEKS'    NEW    SERIES. 


EXERCISE   CLVIII. 

Note. — ^Tliis  piece  is  well  suited  to  reading  in  concert.  To  give  it 
the  better  effect,  the  class  may  be  divided  into  two  parts:  one  side 
reading  the  stanzas  under  the  title  "  Earth,"  and  the  other  respond- 
ing with  those  under  the  caption  "Heaven." 

EARTH  AND  HEAVEN. 

G.   F.   BIOHARDSON. 
EARTH. 

1.  There  is  grief,  there  is  grief, — there  is  wringing  of  hands, 
{pi.)     And  weeping  and  calling  for  aid  ; 

For  Sorrow  hath  summoned  her  group,  and  it  stands 
Round  the  couch  where  the  sufferer  is  laid. 

And  lips  are  all  pallid,  and  cheeks  are  all  cold, 
And  tears  from  the  heart-springs  are  shed ; 

Yet  who  that  looks  on  the  sweet  saint  to  behold, 
But  would  gladly  lie  down  in  her  stead. 

2.  There  is  grief,  there  is  grief, — there  is  anguish  and  strife, 
( pi. )     And  the  sufferer  is  striving  for  breath ; 

For  the  spirit  will  cling,  O  !  how  fondly,  to  life. 

And  stern  is  the  struggle  with  death  ! 
But  the  terrible  conflict  grows  deadlier  still, 

Till  the  last  fatal  symptoms  have  birth  ; 
And  the  eye-ball  is  glazed,  and  the  heart-blood  is  chill , 

And  this  is  the  portion  of  earth ! 

HEAVEN. 

3.  There  is  bliss,  there  is  bliss,  in  the  regions  above, 

They  have  opened  the  gates  of  the  sky  ; 
A  spirit  has  soared  to  those  mansions  of  love. 

And  seeks  for  admittance  on  high. 
And  friends  long  divided  are  hasting  to  greet 

To  a  land  where  no  sorrow  may  come, 
And  the  seraphs  are  eager  a  sister  to  meet. 

And  to  welcome  the  child  to  its  home. 


YOUNG    LADIES'  READER.  46$ 

There  is  bliss,  there  is  bliss,  at  the  foot  of  the  throne, 

See  the  spirit  all  purified  bend  ; 
And  it  beams  with  delight,  since  it  gazes  alone, 

On  the  face  of  a  father, — a  friend  ! 
Then  it  joins  in  the  anthems  forever  that  rise, 

And  its  frailty  or  folly  forgiven, 
It  is  dead  to  the  earth,  and  new-born  to  the  skies, 

And  this  is  the  portion  of  Heaven ! 


'« ♦ »« 


EXERCISE    CLIX. 
SPEAK   GENTLY   TO   THE  ERRING. 

F.   G.   IXS 
L 

iP')  Speak  gently  to  the  erring, — ye  know  not  all  the  power, 
With  which  the  dark  temptation  came,  in  some  unguarded  hoiir ; 
Ye  may  not  know  how  earnestly  they  struggled,  or  how  well, 
Until  the  hour  of  weakness  came,  and  sadly  thus  they  fell. 


Speak  gently  of  the  erring, — oh !  do  not  thou  forget, 
However  darkly  stained  by  sin,  he  is  thy  brother  yet : 
Heir  of  the  self-same  heritage,  child  of  the  self-same  God, 
He  hath  but  stumbled  in  the  path  thou  hast  in  weakness  trod. 


Speak  kindly  to  the  erring, — for  is  it  not  enough, 

That  innocence  and  peace  are  gone,  without  thy  censure  rough  i 

It  surely  is  a  weary  lot,  that  sin-crushed  heart  to  bear ; 

And  they  who  share  a  happier  fate,  their  chidings  well  may  spare. 


Speak  kindly  of  the  erring, — thou  yet  may'st  lead  him  back 
With  holy  words,  and  tones  of  love,  from  misery's  thorny  track ; 
Forget  not  thou  hast  often  sinned,  and  sinful  yet  must  be ; 
Deal  kindly  with  the  erring  one,  as  God  hath  dealt  with  thee  I 

20* 


466  SANDERS'    NEW    SERIES. 


EXERCISE    CLX. 

1.  Chae-le-magne'  (Charles,  the  Great),  King  of  the  Franks,  and  af- 
terwards Emperor  of  the  West,  was  born,  A.  D.  742.  Though  con- 
tinually engaged  in  war,  he  was  a  great  friend  and  patron  of  learn- 
ing,*and,  in  private  life,  was  a  very  amiable  and  estimable  man.  He 
died  in  814. 

2.  Al-ex-an'-der,  the  Great,  the  celebrated  son  of  Philip,  King  of 
Macedon,  was  born,  B.  C.  356.  After  a  life  previously  unsurpassed 
in  warlike  achievements,  he  died  of  a  disease  brought  on  by  intem- 
perate habits,  B.  C.  323. 

8.  Cue'-sar,  Caius  Julius,  the  first  Roman  emperor,  and  one  of  the 
greatest  generals  of  antiquity.  He  wrote  an  account  of  his  wars  in 
Gaul,  which  is  still  extant.  He  was  assassinated  in  the  Senate 
House,  B.  C.  43,  in.  the  56th  year  of  his  age. 

4.  Han'-ni-bal,  the  celebrated  leader  of  the  Carthaginians,  after  a 
brilliant  military  career,  in  which  he  came  near  to  the  achievement 
of  a  full  triumph  over  the  city  and  empire  of  Rome,  took  poison,  and 
died,  B.  C.  183,  at  the  age  of  64. 

6.  Ma-chi-a'-vel,  a  famous  political  writer,  born  at  Florence  in 
1469.  One  of  his  works,  the  Prince,  contains  maxims  of  government 
and  policy,  which  have  rendered  bis  name  synonymous  with  what- 
ever is  vile  in  principle  or  pernicious  in  practice. 

6.  Ba-ja'-zet,  a  warlike  and  tyrannical  Sultan  of  Turkey,  who,  by 
the  murder  of  his  brother,  came  to  the  throne  in  1389.  He  died  in 
1403. 

CHARACTER   OF   NAPOLEON. 

LAMABTmE. 

1.  Personal  glory  will  be  always  spoken  of,  as  character- 
izing the  age  of  Napoleon ;  but  it  will  never  merit  the  praise 
bestowed  upon  that  of  Augustus,  of  Charlemagne,^  and.  of 
Louis  XIV.  There  is  no  age ;  there  is  only  a  name ;  and 
this  name  signifies  nothing  to  humanity,  but  himself.  False 
in  institutions,  for  he  retrograded  ;  false  in  policy,  for  he  de- 
based ;  false  in  morals,  for  he  corrupted ;  false  in  civilization, 
for  he  oppressed ;  false  in  diplomacy,  for  he  isolated, — ^he 
was  only  true  in  war,  for  he  shed  torrents  of  human  blood. 

2.  But  what  can  we  then  allow  him  1      H'.s  individual 


rOUNG     LADIES'    READEE.  467 

genius  was  great,  but  it  was  the  genius  of  materialism.  His 
intelligence  was  vast  and  clear,  but  it  was  the  intelligence  of 
calculation.  He  counted,  he  weighed,  he  measured  ;  but  he 
felt  not ;  he  loved  not ;  he  sympathized  with  none  ;  he  was 
a  statue,  rather  than  a  man.  Therein  lay  his  inferiority  to 
Alexander'  and  to  Csesar' ;  he  resembled  more  the  Hannibal* 
of  the  aristocracy.  Few  men  have  thus  been  molded,  and 
molded  cold.  All  was  solid,  nothing  gushed  forth  in  that 
mind,  nothing  was  moved.  His  metallic  nature  was  felt  even 
in  his  style. 

3.  He  was,  perhaps,  the  greatest  writer  of  human  events 
since  Machiavel."  Much  superior  to  Caesar  in  the  account  of 
his  campaigns,  his  style  is  not  the  written  expression  alone  ; 
it  is  the  action.  Every  sentence  in  his  pages  is,  so  to  speak, 
the  counterpart  and  counter-impression  of  the  fact.  There 
is  neither  a  letter,  a  sound,  or  a  color  wasted  between  the 
fact  and  the  word,  and  the  word  is  himself.  His  phrases 
concise,  but  struck  off  without  ornament,  recall  those  times 
when  Bajazet^  and  Charlemagne,  not  knowing  how  to  write 
their  names  at  the  bottom  of  their  imperial  acts,  dipped  their 
hands  in  ink  or  blood,  and  applied  them  with  all  their  articu- 
lations impressed  upon  the  parchment.  It  was  not  the  signa- 
ture ;  it  was  the  hand  itself  of  the  hero  thus  fixed  eternally 
before  the  eyes ;  and  such  were  the  pages  of  his  campaigns 
dictated  by  Napoleon, — ^the  very  soul  of  movement,  of  ao 
tion,  and  of  combat. 

4.  This  fame,  which  constituted  his  morality,  his  conscience, 
and  his  principle,  he  merited  by  his  nature  and  his  talents, 
from  war  and  from  glory ;  and  he  has  covered  with  it  the 
name  of  France.  France,  obliged  to  accept  the  odium  of 
his  tyranny  and  his  crime,  should,  also,  accept  his  glory  with  a 
serious  gratitude.  She  can  not  separate  her  name  from  his, 
without  lessening  it ;  for  it  is  equally  intrusted  with  his  great- 
ness as  with  his  faults.  She  wished  for  renown,  and  he  has 
given  it  to  her  ;  but  what  she  principally  owes  to  him,  is  the 
celebrity  she  has  gained  in  the  world. 


468  SANDEES'     NEW     SERIES. 

5.  This  celebrity,  which  will  descend  *  to  posterity,  and 
which  is  improperly  called  glory,  constituted  his  means  and 
his  end.  Let  him,  therefore,  enjoy  it.  The  noise  he  has 
made  will  resound  through  distant  ages ;  but  let  it  not  per- 
vert posterity,  or  falsify  the  judgment  of  mankind.  This 
man,  one  of  the  greatest  creations  of  God,  applied  himself 
with  greater  power  than  any  other  man  ever  possessed,  to  ac- 
cumulate therefrom,  on  his  route,  revolutions  and  ameliora- 
tions of  the  human  mind,  as  if  to  check  the  march  of  ideas, 
and  make  all  received  truths  retrace  their  steps.  But  time 
has  overleaped  him,  and  truths  and  ideas  have  resumed  their 
ordinary  current.  He  is  admired  as  a  soldier ;  he  is  meas- 
ured as  a  sovereign ;  he  is  judged  as  a  founder  of  nations ; 
great  in  action,  little  in  idea,  nothing  in  virtue  ; — such  is  the 
man. 


EXERCISE    CLXI 


THE  CORSICAN  NOT  CONTENT. 

WILLIAM   H.    SEWARD. 

1.  Only  two  years  after  the  birth  of  John  Quincy  Adams, 
there  appeared  on  an  island  in  the  Mediterranean  Sea,  a  hu 
man  spirit,  endowed  with  equal  genius,  without  the  regulating 
qualities  of  justice  and  benevolence  which  Adams  possessed 
in  such  an  eminent  degree.  A  like  career  opened  to  both. 
Born,  like  Adams,  a  subject  of  a  king ;  the  child  of  more  ge- 
nial skies,  like  him,  became  in  early  life  a  patriot  and  a  citi- 
zen of  a  new  and  great  Republic.  Like  Adams,  he  lent  his 
service  to  the  State  in  precocious  youth,  and  in  its  hour  of  need, 
and  won  its  confidence. 

2.  But  unlike  Adams,  he  could  not  wait  the  dull  delays  of 
slow  and  laborious,  but  sure  advancement.  He  sought  power 
by  the  hasty  road  that  leads  through  fields  of  carnage,  and  he 
became,  like  Adams,  a  supreme  magistrate,  a  c&nsul.  But 
there  were  other  consuls.     He  was  not  content,     He  thrust 


YOUNG    LADIE,S'  READER.  469 

them  aside,  and  was  consul  alone.  Consular  power  was  too 
short ;  he  fought  new  battles,  and  was  consul  for  life.  But 
power,  confessedly  derived  from  the  people,  must  be  exer- 
cised in  obedience  to  their  will,  and  must  be  resigned  to  them 
again,  at  least  in  death.     He  was  not  content. 

3.  He  desolated  Europe  afresh,  subverted  the  Republic,  im- 
prisoned the  patriarch  who  presided  over  Rome's  comprehen- 
sive See,  and  obliged  him  to  pour  on  his  head  the  sacred  oil 
that  made  the  persons  of  kings  divine,  and  their  right  to  reign 
indefeasible.  He  was  an  emperor.  But  he  soon  saw  around 
him  a  mother,  brothers,  and  sisters,  not  ennobled,  whose  humble 
state  reminded  him  and  the  world  that  he  was  born  a  plebeian. 
He  had  no  heir  to  wait  impatient  for  the  imperial  crown. 

4.  He  scourged  the  earth  again  and  again.  Fortune  smiled 
on  him  even  in  his  wild  extravagance.  He  bestowed  king- 
doms and  principalities  on  his  kindred ;  put  away  the  devoted 
wife  of  his  youthful  days,  and  another,  a  daughter  of  Haps- 
burg's  imperial  house,  joyfully  accepted  his  proud  alliance. 
Offspring  gladdened  his  anxious  sight ;  a  diadem  was  placed 
on  its  infant  brow,  and  it  received  the  homage  of  princes, 
even  in  its  cradle. 

5.  Now  he  was  indeed  a  monarch  ;  a  legitimate  monarch ; 
a  monarch  by  divine  appointment ;  the  first  of  an  endless 
succession  of  monarchs.  But  there  were  other  monarchs  who 
held  sway  in  the  earth.  He  was  not  content.  He  would 
reign  with  his  kindred  alone.  He  gathered  new  and  greater 
armies  from  his  own  land — from  subjugated  lands.  He  called 
forth  the  young  and  the  brave,  one  from  every  household ; 
from  the  Pyrenees  to  the  Zuyder  Zee ;  from  Jura  to  the 
ocean.  He  marshaled  them  into  long  and  majestic  columns, 
and  went  forth  to  seize  that  universal  dominion,  which  seemed 
almost  within  his  grasp. 

6.  But  ambition  had  tempted  fortune  too  far.  The  nations 
of  the  earth  resisted,  repelled,  pursued,  and  surrounded  him. 
The  pageant  was  ended.  The  crown  fell  from  his  presump- 
tuous head.     The  wife  who  had  wedded  him  in  his  pride,  for 


470  SAND  EKS'*  NEW    SEEIES. 

sook  liini  when  fear  came  upon  him.  His  child  was  ravished 
from  his  sight.  His  kinsmen  were  degraded  to  their  first 
estate,  and  he  was  no  longer  emperor,  nor  consul,  nor  general, 
nor  even  a  citizen,  but  an  exile  and  a  prisoner,  on  a  lonely 
island  in  the  midst  of  the  wild  Atlantic. 

7.  Discontent  attended  him  there.  The  wayward  man 
fretted  out  a  few  lonely  years  of  his  yet  unbroken  manhood, 
looking  off,  at  the  earliest  dawn  and  the  evening's  twilight, 
toward  that  distant  world  that  had  only  just  eluded  his  grasp. 
His  heart  corroded.  Death  came,  not  unlocked  for,  though 
it  came,  even  then,  unwelcome.  He  was  stretched  on  his  bed 
within  the  fort  which  constituted  his  prison.  A  few  fast  and 
faithful  friends  stood  around  him,  with  the  guards  who  rejoiced 
that  the  hour  of  relief,  from  long  and  wearisome  watching,  was 
at  hand. 

8.  As  his  strength  wasted  away,  delirium  stirred  up  the 
brain  from  its  long  and  inglorious  inactivity.  The  pageant 
of  ambition  returned.  He  was  again  a  lieutenant,  and  a 
general,  a  consul,  an  emperor  of  France.  He  filled  again  the 
throne  of  Charlemagne.  His  kindred  pressed  around  him, 
again  invested  with  the  pompous  pageantry  of  royalty.  The 
daughter  of  the  long  line  of  kings  again  stood  proudly  by  his 
side,  and  the  sunny  face  of  his  child  shone  out  from  beneath 
the  diadem  that  encircled  his  flowing  locks.  The  marshals  of 
the  empire  awaited  his  command. 

9.  The  legions  of  the  Old  Guard  were  in  the  field,  their 
scarred  faces  rejuvenated,  and  their  ranks,  thinned  in  many 
battles,  replenished.  Russia,  Prussia,  Austria,  Denmark,  and 
England,  gathered  their  mighty  hosts  to  give  him  battle. 
Once  more  he  mounted  his  impatient  charger,  and  rushed 
forth  to  conquest.  He  waved  his  sword  aloft,  and  cried : "  Tete 
d'Armee!"*  The  feverish  vision  broke,  the  mockery  was 
ended.  The  silver  cord  was  loosed,  and  the  warrior  fell  back 
upon  his  bed  a  lifeless  corpse.     The  Corsican   was  not 

CONTENT ! 

*  Tite  d'Armee,  head  of  the  Army. 


YOUNG    LADIES'  READER.  471 


EXERCISE    CLXII. 

The  Ith  of  May  came  amid  wind  and  rain.  Napoleon's  passing 
spirit  -was  delii'iously  engaged  in  a  strife  more  terrible  than  the  ele- 
ments around.  The  words  "  tete  d'armee,"  (head  of  the  army),  the 
last  which  escaped  from  his  lips,  intimated  that  his  thoughts  were 
watching  the  current  of  a  heavy  fight.  About  eleven  minutes  before 
six  in  the  evening,  Napoleon  expired. — Scott's  Life  of  Napoleon. 

DEATH  OF   NAPOLEON. 

ISAAC   m'LIXLAN. 

1.  (o)  Wild  was  the  night ;  yet  a  wilder  night 

Hung  round  the  soldier's  pillow  ; 
In  his  bosom  there  waged  a  fiercer  fight 
Than  the  fight  on  the  wrathful  billow. 

2.  (pi.)  A  few  fond  mourners  were  kneeling  by, 

The  few  that  his  stern  heart  cherished  ; 
They  knew,  by  his  glazed  and  unearthly  eye. 
That  life  had  nearly  perished. 

3.  They  knew  by  his  awful  and  kingly  look, 

By  the  order  hastily  spoken, 
That  he  dreamed  of  days  when  the  nations  shook, 
And  the  nations'  hosts  were  broken. 

4.  He  dreamed  that  the  Frenchman's  sword  still  slew, 

And  triumphed  the  Frenchman's  "  eagle  ;" 
And  the  struggling  Austrian  fled  anew. 
Like  the  hare  before  the  beagle. 

5    The  bearded  Russian  he  scourged  again. 
The  Prussian's  camp  was  routed, 
And  again,  on  the  hills  of  haughty  Spain, 
His  mighty  armies  shouted. 


6.  Over  Egypt's  sands,  over  Alpine  snows, 
At  the  pyramids,  at  the  mountain. 


472  SANDEBS\NEW     SERIES- 

Where  the  wave  of  the  lordly  Danube  flows, 
And  by  the  Italian  fountain ; 

7.  On  the  snowy  cliffs,  where  mountain-streams 

Dash  by  the  Switzer's  dwelling, 
He  led  again,  in  his  dying  dreams, 
His  hosts,  the  broad  earth  quelling. 

8.  Again  Marengo's  field  was  won, 

And  Jena's  bloody  battle  ; 
Again  the  world  was  overrun, 
Made  pale  at  his  cannons'  rattle. 

9.  (f-)  He  died  at  the  close  of  that  darksome  day, 

A  day  that  shall  live  in  story  : 
In  the  rocky  land  they  placed  his  clay, 
"  And  left  him  alone  with  his  glory." 


EXERCISE    CLXIII. 
THE   NEEDLE. 

SAMUEL  WOODWOBTtt 

1.  The  gay  belles  of  fashion  may  boast  of  excelling 

In  waltz  or  cotillon,  at  whist  or  quadrille  ; 
And  seek  admiration  by  vauntingly  telling 

Of  drawing,  and  painting,  and  musical  skill ; 
But  give  me  the  fair  one,  in  country  or  city. 

Whose  home  and  its  duties  are  dear  to  her  heart, 
Who  cheerfully  warbles  some  rustical  ditty. 

While  plying  the  needle  with  exquisite  art : 
The  bright  little  needle — (")the  swift-flying  needle, 

The  needle  directed  by  beauty  and  art. 

2.  If  Love  have  a  potent,  a  magical  token, 

A  talisman,  ever  resistless  and  true, — 


YOUNG     LADIES'    KEADER.  478 

A  charm  that  is  never  evaded  or  broken, 

A  witchery  certain  the  heart  to  subdue, — 
'T  is  this, — and  his  armory  never  has  furnished 

So  keen  and  unerring,  or  polished  a  dart ; 
Let  beauty  direct  it,  so  pointed  and  burnished, 

And  O  !  it  is  certain  of  touching  the  heart : 
The  bright  little  needle — (")  the  swift-flying  needle. 

The  needle  directed  by  beauty  and  art. 

3.  Be  wise,  then,  ye  maidens,  nor  seek  admiration 

By  dressing  for  conquest,  and  flirting  with  all ; 
You  never,  whate'er  be  your  fortune  or  station, 

Appear  half  so  lovely  at  rout  or  at  ball, 
As  gayly  convened  at  a  work-covered  table. 

Each  cheerfully  active  and  playing  her  part, 
Beguiling  the  task  with  a  song  or  a  fable. 

And  plying  the  needle  with  exquisite  art : 
The  bright  little  needle  (")  the  swift-flying  needle. 

The  needle  directed  by  beauty  and  art. 


EXERCISE    CLXIV. 
THE  VICTOR'S   CROWN. 


MBS.  HALV. 


1.  A  crown  for  the  victor, — a  crown  of  light ! 
From  the  land  where  the  flowers  ne'er  feel  a  blight 
Was  gathered  the  wreath  that  around  it  blows ; 
And  he  who  o'ercometh  his  treacherous  foes, 

That  fadeless  crown  shall  gain. 
A  king  went  forth  on  the  rebel  array. 
Intrenched  where  a  lovely  hamlet  lay  ; 
He  frowned, — and  there 's  naught  save  ashes  anc  blood, 
And  blackened  bones,  where  that  hamlet  stood, 

Yet  his  treacherous  foes  he  hath  not  slain. 


474  SANDERS'  NEW    SERIES. 

2.  A  crown  for  the  victor, — a  crown  of  light ! 
Encircled  with  jewels  so  pure  and  bright, 
Night  never  hath  gloomed  where  its  luster  flows ; 
And  he  who  can  conquer  his  proudest  foes, 

That  glorious  crown  shall  gain. 
A  hero^me  from  the  gory  field, 
And  low  at  his  feet  the  pale  captives  kneeled  ; 
In  his  might  he  hath  trodden  a  natiou  down, 
But  he  may  not  challenge  that  glorious  crown, 

For  his  proudest  foes  he  hath  not  slain. 

3.  A  crown  for  the  victor, — a  crown  of  light ! 
Like  the  morning  'sun  to  the  dazzled  sight, 
From  the  night  of  a  dungeon  raised,  it  glows ; 
And  he  who  can  slay  his  deadliest  foes. 

That  shining  crown  shall  gain. 
With  searching  eye,  and  stealthy  tread, 
The  man  of  wrath  sought  his  enemy's  bed  : 
Like  festering  wounds  are  the  wrongs  he  hath  borne ; 
And  he  takes  the  revenge  his  soul  had  sworn, 
But  his  deadliest  foe  he  hath  not  slain. 


4.  A  crown  for  the  victor, — a  crown  of  light ! 
To  be  worn  with  a  robe  whose  spotless  white 
Makes  darkness  seem  resting  on  Alpine  snows ; 
And  he  who  o'ercometh  his  mightiest  foes, 

That  robe  and  crown  shall  gain. 
With  eye  upraised,  and  forehead  bare, 
A  pilgrim  knelt  down  in  holy  prayer : 
He  hath  wrestled  with  self,  and  with  passion  striven ; 
And  to  him  hath  the  Sword  of  the  Spirit  been  given ; — 

Ot !  crown  him,  for  his  foes, — his  sins, — are  slain. 


YOUNG     LADIES'    KEADER.  476 


EXERCISE    CLXV 


THE   MORAL   WORLD  SUPERIOR  TO  THE   NATURAL.. 

GRIMKE. 

1.  Mt.n,  the  noblest  work  of  God  in  this  lower  world, 
walks  abroad  through  its  labyrinths  of  grandeur  and  beauty, 
amid  countless  manifestations  of  creative  power  and  provi- 
dential wisdom.  He  acknowledges,  in  all  that  he  beholds,  the 
might  that  called  them  into  being ;  the  skill  which  perfected  the 
harmony  of  the  parts,  and  the  benevolence  which  consecrated 
all  to  the  glory  of  God  and  the  welfare  of  his  fellow-creatures. 

2.  He  stands  entranced  on  the  peak  of  ^tna,  or  TenerifFe, 
or  Montserrat,  and  looks  down  upon  the  far-distant  ocean, 
silent  to  his  ear,  and  tranquil  to  his  eye,  amid  the  rushing  of 
tempestuous  winds,  and  the  fierce  conflict  of  stormy  billows. 
He  sits  enraptured  on  the  mountain-summit,  and  beholds,  as 
far  as  the  eye  can  reach,  a  forest  robe,  flowing  in  all  the  varie- 
ties of  graceful  undulations,  over  declivity  after  declivity,  as 
though  the  fabulous  river  of  the  skies  were  pouring  its  azure 
waves  over  all  the  landscape. 

3.  He  hangs  over  the  precipice,  and  gazes  with  awful  de- 
light on  the  savage  glen,  rent  open,  as  it  were,  by  the  earth- 
quake, and  black  with  lightning-shattered  rocks ;  its  only  mu- 
sic the  echoing  thunder,  the  scream  of  the  lonely  eagle,  and 
the  tumultuous  waters  of  the  mountain  torrent.  He  reclines, 
in  pensive  mood,  on  the  hill-top,  and  sees  around  and  beneath 
him  all  the  luxuriant  beauties  of  field  and  meadow,  of  olive- 
yard  and  vineyard,  of  wandering  stream  and  grove-encircled 
lake.  He  descends  to  the  plain,  and,  amid  waving  harvests, 
verdant  avenues,  and  luxuriant  orchards,  Sees,  between  garden 
and  grass-plot,  the  farm-house,  embosomed  in  copse- wood,  or 
"  tall  ancestral  trees." 

4.  He  walks  through  the  valley,  fenced  in  by  barrier  clifls, 
to  contemplate,  with  mild  enthusiasm,  its  scenes  of  pastoral 
beauty;  the  cottage  and  its  blossomed  arbor,  the  shepherd 
and  his  flock,  the  clumps  of  oaks,  or  the  solitary  willow.     He 


476  SANDERS'     NEW     SERIES. 

enters  the  caverns  buried  far  beneath  the  surface,  and  is  struck 
with  amazement  at  the  grandeur  and  magnificence  of  a  sub- 
terranean palace,  hewn  out,  as  it  were,  by  the  power  of  the 
Genii,*  and  decorated  by  the  taste  of  the  Queen  of  the  Fairies. 

5.  Such  is  the  natural  world  ;  and  such,  for  the  most  part, 
has  it  ever  been,  since  men  began  to  subdue  the  wilderness, 
to  scatter  the  ornaments  of  civilization  amid  the  rural  scenery 
of  nature,  and  to  plant  the  lily  on  the  margin  of  the  deep,  the 
village  on  the  hill-side,  and  martial  battlements  in  the  defiles 
of  the  mountains.  Such  has  been  the  natural  world,  whether 
beheld  by  the  eye  of  savage  or  barbarian,  of  the  civilized  or  the 
refined.  Such  has  it  been,  for  the  most  part,  whether  con- 
templated by  the  harpers  of  Greece,  the  bards  of  Northern 
Europe,  or  the  voluptuous  minstrels  of  the  Troubadourf  age. 
Such  it  was,  when  its  beauties,  like  scattered  stars,  beamed  on 
the  page  of  classic  lore ;  and  such,  when  its  "  sunshine  of  picture" 
poured  a  flood  of  meridian  splendor  on  modern  literature. 

6.  Admirable  as  the  natural  world  is  for  its  sublimity  and 
beauty,  who  would  compare  it,  even  for  an  instant,  with  the 
sublimity  and  beauty  of  the  moral  world  ?  Is  not  the  soul, 
with  its  glorious  destiny  and  its  capacities  for  eternal  happi- 
ness, more  awful  and  majestic  than  the  boundless  Pacific,  or 
the  interminable  Andes  1  Is  not  the  mind,  with  its  thoughts 
that  wander  through  eternity,  and  its  wealth  of  intellectual 
power,  an  object  of  more  intense  interest  than  forest,  or  cata- 
ract, or  precipice  1  And  the  heart,  so  eloquent  in  the  depth, 
purity,  and  pathos  of  its  affections, — can  the  richest  scenery  of 
hill  and  dale,  can  the  melody  of  breeze,  and  brook,  and  bird, 
rival  it  in  loveliness  1 

7.  The  same  God  is  the  Author  of  the  invisible  and  visible 
world.     The  moral  grandeur  and  beauty  of  the  world  of  man 

*  Ge'-ni-i,  imaginary  beings,  some  good,  some  bad,  fabled  to  o« 
cupy  a  place  intermediate  between  men  and  angels. 

t  Trou'-ba-douk  age,  that  is,  the  age  of  the  Troubadours,  a  clas? 
of  poets  who  flourished  from  the  eleventh  to  aliout  the  commence 
ment  of  the  fifteenth  century. 


YOUNG     LADIES'     READER.  477 


are  equally  the  productions  of  His  wisdom  and  goodness,  with 
the  fair,  the  sublime,  the  wonderful  in  the  physical  creation. 
What,  indeed,  are  these,  but  the  outward  manifestations  of 
His  might,  skill,  and  benevolence  ?  What  are  they  but  a  glo- 
rious volume,  forever  speaking  to  the  eye  and  ear  of  man,  in 
the  language  of  sight  and  sound,  the  praises  of  its  Author  ? 
And  what  are  those  but  images,  faint  and  imperfect  as  they 
are,  of  His  own  incomprehensible  attributes  1  What  are 
they,  the  soul,  the  mind,  the  heart  of  an  immortal  being,  but 
the  temple  of  the  Holy  Spirit ;  the  dwelling-place  of  Him 
whom  the  Heaven  of  heavens  can  not  contain,  who  inhabiteth 
eternity  ? 


EXERCISE    CLXVI. 
BEAUTY   OF  AGE. 


L.    H.    SIGOURNKT. 

1.  "The  principle  of  beauty  hath  no  age, 

It  looketh  foi'th,  even  though  the  eye  be  dim. 
The  forehead  frost-crown'd,  yea,  it  looketh  forth, 
Like  holy  star,  on  all  whom  God  hath  made." 

2.  The  beauty  of  age !  Does  any  one  call  me  ironical,  or 
point  the  finger  at  me  in  derision  1  Verily,  I  am  speaking  in 
good  faith.  Yet  am  I  not  ignorant  of  what  Time  takes  away. 
I  know  that  he  is  prone  to  steal  from  the  eye  its  luster,  and 
from  the  Parian  brow  its  smoothness.  The  round  cheek  falls 
away  at  his  plowshare,  and  the  dimples  disappear.  The  hair, 
no  longer  abundant,  leaves  the  bald  crown,  or  withered  tem- 
ples unshielded.  Its  hues  of  chestnut,  or  auburn,  or  raven 
black,  vanish,  and  the  complexion,  no  longer  relieved  by  their 
rich  contrast,  loses  its  tint  of  rose  or  lily,  and  settles  into  the 
trying  companionship  of  iron  gray  or  white. 

3.  The  erect  form  yields  its  dignity.  The  vertebral  column 
bends,  and  the  limbs  resign  their  elasticity.  Happy  are  they 
who  are  compelled  to  call  in  no  aid  from  crutch  or  staff,  to 


478  SANDERS'    NEW    SERIES. 

sustain  their  footsteps.  The  beautiful  hand  loses  its  plump- 
ness, and  bones  and  sinews  and  jagged  veins  become  protu- 
berant. Even  the  ear  sometimes  forfeits  its  delicate  symme- 
try, and  grows  elephantine.  The  voice  is  prone  to  forget  its 
harmony,  or,  unmodified  by  its  dental*  allies,  "  pipes  and 
whistles  in  its  sound." 

4.  All  these  deteriorations,  and  more  than  these,  I  admit, 
yet  boldly  sustain  my  argument,  the  beauty  of  age.  Where 
is  it  ?  In  what  does  it  consist  ?  Its  dwelling  is  in  the  soul, 
and  it  makes  itself  visible  by  radiations  that  reach  the  soul ; 
by  the  smile  of  benevolence,  by  limitless  good  will,  by  a 
saintly  serenity,  by  the  light  of  heaven  shining  upon  the  head 
that  is  so  near  it. 

5.  The  smile  of  Washington,  which  had  always  possessed  a 
peculiar  charm,  gathered  force  and  sweetness  from  the  snows 
of  time.  One  who  was  accustomed  to  meet  him  in  the  family, 
says  :  "  Whenever  he  gave  me  one  of  these  smiles,  I  always 
felt  the  tears  swelling  under  my  eye-lids." 

6.  What  an  affecting  sketch  of  the  tranquil  beauty  of  age  on 
which  death  hath  set  his  seal,  is  given  in  a  letter  from  Pope,  to 
an  artist  whom  he  desires  to  preserve  the  likeness  of  the  mother, 
whose  declining  years  were  soothed  by  his  filial  love  and  duty. 

7.  "  My  poor  old  mother  is  dead.  I  thank  God  that  her 
death  was  as  easy  as  her  life  has  been  innocent ;  and,  as  it  cost 
her  not  a  groan,  or  even  a  sigh,  there  is  still  upon  her  counte- 
nance such  an  expression  of  tranquillity,  nay,  almost  of  pleas- 
ure, that  it  is  amiable  to  behold.  It  would  afford  the  finest 
image  of  a  saint  expired,  that  painter  ever  drew ;  and  it  wc^uld 
be  the  greatest  obligation  which  that  art  could  bestow  on  a 
friend,  if  you  could  come  and  sketch  it  for  me.  I  hope  to  see 
you  soon,  ere  this  winter  flower  shall  have  faded.  I  will  de- 
fer the  interment  until  to-morrow  night.  I  know  you  lo-^e 
me,  or  I  could  not  have  written  this,  or,  indeed,  at  such  a  time, 
have  written  at  all.     Adieu  !     May  you  die  as  happy !" 

8.  At  his  villa  of  Twickenham,  bought  with  the  first  fruits 
of  his  translation  of  Homer's  Iliad,  the  poet  shelt^jed  and  si)l 


YOUNG    LADIES'   READERc  479 

aced  this  venerable  mother.  From  her  honored  seat  at  his 
fireside,  her  tender,  simple  message  cheered  him  amid  his 
toils  : — "  I  send  you  my  daily  prayers,  and  I  bless  you,  my 
deare."  More  touching  and  admirable  was  the  interchange  of 
these  hallowed  sensibilities,  than  all  the  melody  of  his  verse. 

9.  Of  the  intrinsic  beauty  of  age,  I  have  been  so  happy  as  to 
see  some  distinguished  specimens.  My  infant  eyes  opened  upon 
one.  My  earliest  perceptions  of  the  beautiful  and  holy  were 
entwined  with  silver  hairs,  and  I  bless  God,  that  the  fourteen 
first  years  of  life  dwelt  under  their  serene  shadow.  A  fair 
countenance,  a  clear,  blue  eye,  and  a  voice  of  music,  return  to 
me  as  I  recall  the  image  of  that  venerated  lady,  over  whom  more 
than  threescore  and  ten  years  had  passed,  ere  I  saw  the  light. 

10.  Her  tall,  graceful  form,  moving  with  elastic  steps 
through  the  parterres,  whose  numerous  flowers  she  superin- 
tended, and  her  brow  raised  in  calm  meditation  from  the  sa- 
cred volume  she  was  reading,  were  to  me  beautiful.  Many 
sought  to  take  counsel  of  her,  both  for  the  things  of  this  life 
and  the  next,  and  her  words  were  so  uttered  as  to  make  them 
happier  as  well  as  wiser. 

11.  The  sorrowful  came  to  be  enlightened  by  the  sunbeam 
that  dwelt  in  her  spirit,  and  the  children  of  want  for  bread 
and  a  garment ;  for  her  wealth  was  the  Lord's,  and,  when  she 
cast  it  into  His  treasury,  it  was  with  a  smile,  as  if  she  was  her- 
self the  receiver.  The  beauty  of  the  soul  was  hers,  that 
waxeth  not  old.  Love  was  in  her  heart  to  all  whom  God  had 
made,  a  love  not  ending  in  blind  indulgence,  but  seeking  to 
elevai;e  them  in  the  scale  of  existence. 

12.  Thus  it  was  until  eighty-eight  years  had  passed  over 
her  ;  and  when  she  entered  the  exalted  society  for  which  she 
had  been  fitted  here,  tears  flowed  widely  and  freely,  as  for  one 
in  her  prime.  At  her  grave  I  learned  my  first  lesson  of  a 
bursting  grief  that  has  never  been  forgotten.  Let  none  say 
that  the  aged  die  unloved,  or  unmourned  by  the  young.  It  is 
not  so. 

13.  Another,  I  knew,  without  munificent  endowment  of 


480  SANDERS'    NEW    SERIES. 


mind,  person,  or  position.  Yet  had  he,  to  the  last,  a  beauty 
that  love  followed, — the  beauty  of  kind  regard  to  all  creatures, 
and  of  a  perfect  temperament  that  never  yielded  to  anger. 
Hence  the  wheels  of  life  ran  on  without  chafing,  and,  in  his 
eighty-eighth  year,  his  step  was  as  elastic  as  at  twenty,  the 
florid  hue  of  his  cheek  unchanged,  and  his  bright,  brown  hair, 
without  a  thread  of  silver. 

14.  He  loved  the  plants  and  flowers,  and  knew  how  scien- 
tifically to  promote  their  welfare,  and  to  enrich  the  dark, 
brown  mold,  with  golden  fruits,  and  fair  vine-clusters.  By 
these  sweet  recreations,  life  was  made  sweeter,  and  renewed 
its  pleasures  like  the  fresh  spring-buds,  and  the  bird  that  re- 
turns again  to  its  nest  after  the  winter.  Sorrows  he  had 
tasted,  but  they  left  no  cloud,  only  a  deeper  tenderness  for  all 
who  mourned. 

15.  His  religion  had  no  mixture  of  coldness  toward  those 
who  differed  from  him,  no  exclusiveness,  no  bigotry.  The 
frailties  of  those  around,  he  regarded  with  gentleness  or  with 
pity.  He  blamed  not,  upbraided  not.  On  his  loving  soul 
there  was  no  slander-spot.  His  life  was  like  one  long  smile, 
closing  with  a  music-strain.  And  on  it  was  written  as  a  fair 
motto, — "  the  man  without  an  enemy. ''^ 

16.  From  the  sacred  pictures  of  the  departed,  that  hang  in 
the  soul's  temple,  I  would  fain  select  another.  It  is  of  a  friend, 
who,  in  early  years,  suffered  from  feebleness  of  constitution, 
yet,  by  care  and  temperance,  so  renovated  his  health,  that  age 
was  to  him  better  and  more  vigorous  than  youth.  A  strong 
perception  of  the  beautiful,  both  in  natur^  and  art,  lighted  up 
his  mind  with  a  perpetual  sunbeam. 

17.  His  fine  taste  went  hand  in  hand  with  a  perfect  philan- 
thropy, so  that  what  he  admired  he  patronized,  and  what  he 
patronized  he  spread  abroad,  that  others  might  share  his  en- 
joyment. The  gates  of  his  spacious  rural  villa  were  thrown 
open  as  a  pleasure-ground  for  all  the  people,  and  with  the 
treasures  of  literature  and  the  arts,  he  enriched  the  noble 
public  institute  that  he  founded.     "  The  holy  truth  walked 


YOUNG     LADIES'    READEK.  481 

ever  by  his  side ;"  while  independence  of  thought  and  action 
with  regard  to  men,  was  mingled  with  the  deepest  humility 
and  reverence  toward  God. 

18.  To  draw  merit  from  obscurity,  to  sustain  honest  indus- 
try, to  encourage  humble  virtue,  to  stimulate  the  young  to 
higher  effort,  and  silently  to  relieve  the  suffering  poor,  were 
his  pleasures.  And  with  these  pleasures  would  sometimes 
steal  over  his  brow  an  expression  denied  to  what  the  world 
calls  beauty,  "  the  set  of  features  and  complexion,  the  tincture 
of  the  skin  that  she  admires."  It  was  the  beauty  of  the  soul, 
looking  forth  in  the  life  of  one,  who  faithfully  and  without 
ostentation,  held  his  large  fortune  in  stewardship  for  God  and 
for  man. 


EXERCISE    CLXVII. 

GENIUS  WAKING. 

J.    G.  PBEOVAL. 

1,  Slumber's  heavy  chain  hath  bound  thee, — 

Where  is  now  thy  fire  1 
Feebler  wings  are  gathering  round  thee, — 
(<)         Shall  they  hover  higher  ? 

Can  no  power,  no  spell  recall  thee 

From  inglorious  dreams  ? 
O !  could  glory  so  appall  thee, 

With  his  burning  beams  1 

2.  Thine  was  once  the  highest  pinion 

In  the  midway  air  ; 
With  a  proud  and  sure  dominion, 

Thou  didst  upward  bear, — 
Like  the  herald,  winged  with  lightning, 

From  the  Olympian  throne, 
Ever  mounting,  ever  brightening, 

Thou  wert  there  alone. 
21 


4.82  SANDERS'     NEW     SERIES. 

3.  Where  the  pillared  props  of  heaven 

Glitter  with  eternal  snows, 
Where  no  darkling  clouds  are  driven, 

Where  no  fountain  flows, — 
Far  above  the  rolling  thunder. 

When  the  surging  storm 
Rends  its  sulphury  folds  asunder, 

We  beheld  thy  form. 

4.  O,  what  rare  and  heavenly  brightness 

Flowed  around  thy  plumes. 
As  a  cascade's  foamy  whiteness, 

Lights  a  cavern's  glooms  ! 
Wheeling  through  the  shadowy  ocean, 

Like  a  shape  of  light, 
With  serene  and  placid  motion, 

Thou  wert  dazzling  bright. 

5.  From  that  cloudless  region  stooping,  • 

Downward  thou  didst  rush. 
Not  with  pinion  faint  and  droopmg. 

But  the  tempest's  gush. 
(")    Up  again,  undaunted  soaring. 

Thou  didst  pierce  the  cloud. 
When  the  warring  winds  were  roaring 

Fearfully  and  loud. 

6.  Where  is  now  that  restless  longing 

After  higher  things  1 
Come  they  not,  like  visions,  thronging 

On  their  airy  wings  ? 
Why  should  not  their  glow  enohant  thee 

Upward  to  their  bliss  1 
Surely  danger  can  not  daunt  thee 
.    From  a  heaven  like  this. 


YOUNG    LADIES'  EEADEB.  483 

7.     (si.)  But  thou  slumberest ;  faint  and  quivering 
Hangs  thy  ruffled  wing ; 
Like  a  dove  in  winter  shivering, 
Or  a  feebler  thing. 
{<)   Where  is  now  thy  might  and  motion, 
Thy  imperial  flight  1 
Where  is  now  thy  heart's  devotion  ? 
Where  thy  spirit's  light  ? 

8      Hark  !  his  rustling  plumage  gathers 

Closer  to  his  side, 
Close,  as  when  the  storm-bird  weathers 

Ocean's  hurrying  tide. 
Now.  his  nodding  beak  is  steady, — 

Wide  his  burning  eye, — 
Now  his  opening  wings  are  ready, 

And  his  aim — how  high  ! 

y.     Now  he  curves  his  neck,  and  proudly 

Now  is  stretched  for  flight ! 
Hark  !  his  wings — they  thunder  loudly 

And  their  flash, — how  bright ! 
Onward,  onward,  over  mountain, 

Through  the  rock  and  storm, 
Now,  like  sunset  over  fountain, 

Flits  his  glancing  form. 

10,     Glorious  bird !  thy  dream  has  left  thee,— 

Thou  hast  reached  thy  heaven, — 
Lingering  slumber  hath  not  reft  thee 

Of  the  glory  given. 
With  a  bold,  a  fearless  pinion, 

On  thy  starry  road. 
None,  to  fame's  supreme  dominion. 

Mightier  ever  trode. 


484  SANDERS'  NEW    SERIES. 

EXERCISE    CLXVIII. 
BATTLE   OF   WATERLOO.* 

BTROir. 

1.  There  was  a  sound  of  revelry  by  night, 
And  Belgium's  capital  had  gathered  then 
Her  beauty  and  her  chivalry,  and  bright 

The  lamps  shone  o'er  fair  women  and  brave  men  ! 

A  thousand  hearts  beat  happily  ;  and  when 

Music  arose  with  its  voluptuous  swell, 

Soft  eyes  looked  love  to  eyes  which  spake  again. 

And  all  went  merry  as  a  marriage-bell ;  [knell ! 

(q)  But  hush !  hark ! — a  deep  sound  strikes  like  a  rising 

2.  Did  ye  not  hear  it  ? — No  ;  'twas  but  the  wind, 
Or  the  car  rattling  o'er  the  stony  street ; 

(°)  On  with  the  dance  ;  let  joy  be  unconfmed ; 

No  sleep  till  morn,  when  youth  and  pleasure  meet 

To  chase  the  glowing  hours  with  flying  feet — 

(o)  But,  hark ! — That  heavy  sound  breaks  in  once  more, 

As  if  the  clouds  its  echo  would  repeat ; 

And  nearer,  clearer,  deadlier  than  before  ! 

(°°)  Arm  !  arm  !  it  is — it  is  the  cannon's  opening  roar ! 

3.  Ah  !  then  and  there  was  hurrying  to  and  fro. 
And  gathering  tears,  and  tremblings  of  distress, 
And  cheeks  all  pale,  which  but  an  hour  ago 
Blushed  at  the  praise  of  their  own  loveliness  ; 

*  On  the  night  previous  to  the  battle,  a  splendid  ball  was  given  at 
Brussels.  The  Duke  of  Wellington,  having  heard  of  Napoleon's  de- 
cisive operations,  had  intended  to  have  the  ball  put  off;  but,  it  seem- 
ing important  that  the  people  of  Brussels  should  be  kept  in  igno- 
rance of  what  was  in  progress,  the  Duke  not  only  desired  that  the 
ball  should  be  held,  but  that  the  general  officers  should  be  present 
They  were,  however,  instructed  to  quit  the  place  as  quietly  as  possi 
ble,  at  10  o'clock,  and  join  immediately  each  his  own  respective  di 
vision 


YOUNG     LADIES'    READEK.  485 

And  there  were  sudden  partings,  such  as  press 

The  life  from  out  young  hearts,  and  choking  sighs 

Which  ne'er  might  be  repeated — who  could  guess 

If  ever  more  should  meet,  those  mutual  eyes, 

Since  upon  night  so  sweet,  such  awful  morn  could  rise  ? 

4.  (=)  And  there  was  mounting,  in  hot  haste  ;  the  steed, 
The  mustering  squadron,  and  the  clattering  car, 
Went  pouring  forward  with  impetuous  speed, 

And  swiftly  forming  in  the  ranks  of  war, 
And  the  deep  thunder,  peal  on  peal  afar  ; 
And  near,  the  beat  of  the  alarming  drum 
Roused  up  the  soldier  ere  the  morning  star  ; 
While  thronged  the  citizens,  with  terror  dumb, 
Or  whispering  with  white  lips — "The  foe!     They  come, 
they  come !" 

5.  And  Ardennes*  waves  above  them  her  green  leaves, 
Dewy  with  Nature's  tear-drops,  as  they  pass, 
Grieving,  if  aught  inanimate  e'er  grieves, 

Over  the  unreturning  brave, — alas  ! 

Ere  evening  to  be  trodden  like  the  grass. 

Which  now  beneath  them,  but  above  shall  grow 

In  its  next  verdure,  when  this  fiery  mass 

Of  living  valor,  rolling  on  the  foe, 

And  burning  with  high  hope,  shall  molder  cold  and  low. 

6.  Last  noon  beheld  them  full  of  lusty  life, 
Last  eve  in  beauty's  circle  proudly  gay. 

The  midnight  brought  the  signal-sound  of  strife, 
The  morn,  the  marshaling  in  arms, — the  day. 
Battle's  magnificently-stern  array  ! 
The  thunder-clouds  close    o'er  it,  which,  when  rent. 
The  earth  is  covered  thick  with  other  clay. 
Which  her  own  clay  shall  cover,  heaped  and  pent. 
Eider  and  horse, — friend,  foe, — in  one  red  burial  blent ! 
*  Pronounced  in  two  syllables. 


486  SANDERS'    NEW    SERIES. 

EXERCISE  CLXIX. 

I. 

HOPE. 
Eternal  Hope !  when  yonder  spheres  sublime 
Pealed  their  first  notes  to  sound  the  march  of  Time, 
Thy  joyous  yoiith  began — but  not  to  fade, — 
When  all  the  sister  planets  have  decayed  ; 
When,  wrapped  in  fire,  the  realms  of  ether  glow, 
And  Heaven's  last  thunder  shakes  the  world  below, 
Thou,  undismayed,  shalt  o'er  the  ruins  smile. 
And  light  thy  torch  at  Nature's  funeral  pile. 

OAMFSSLL. 

II. 

IMMORTALITY  OF  THE  SOUL. 
With  what  astonishment  and  veneration  may  we  look  into 
our  own  souls,  where  there  are  such  hidden  stores  of  virtue 
and  knowledge,  such  inexhausted  sources  of  perfection  ?  We 
know  not  yet  what  we  shall  be,  nor  will  it  ever  enter  into  the 
heart  of  man  to  conceive  the  glory  that  will  be  always  in  re- 
serve for  him.  The  soul,  considered  with  its  Creator,  is  like 
one  of  those  mathematical  lines  that  may  draw  nearer  to 
another  for  all  eternity  without  a  possibility  of  touching  it. 
And  can  there  be  a  thought  so  transporting  as  to  consider 
ourselves  in  these  perpetual  approaches  to  Him,  who  is  not 
only  the  standard  of  perfection,  but  of  happiness  ? 

ADDISON. 

III. 

TRUE   HAPPINESS. 
True  happiness  is  not  the  growth  of  earth, 

The  soil  is  fruitless,  if  you  seek  it  there, 
'T  is  an  exotic  of  celestial  birth, 

And  never  blooms  but  in  celestial  air. 
Sweet  plant  of  paradise  !  its  seeds  are  sown 

In  here  and  there  a  breast  of  heavenly  mold, 
It  rises  slow,  and  buds,  but  ne'er  was  known 

To  blossom  here, — the  climate  is  too  cold. 

K.   B.  SHJCBIDAN. 


YOUNG    LADIES'  READEE.  487 

A   FIRM   RELIGIOUS   BELIEF. 

I  envy  no  quality  of  the  mind  or  intellect  in  others ;  not 
genius,  power,  wit,  or  fancy ;  but,  if  I  could  choose  what  would 
be  most  delightful,  and,  I  believe,  most  useful  to  me,  1 
should  prefer  a  firm  religious  belief  to  every  other  blessing  ; 
for  it  makes  life  a  discipline  of  goodness, — creates  new  hopes, 
when  all  earthly  hopes  vanish ;  and  throws  over  the  decay, 
the  destruction  of  existence,  the  most  gorgeous  of  all  lights  ; 
awakens  life  even  in  death,  and,  from  corruption  and  decay, 
calls  up  beauty  and  divinity ;  makes  an  instrument  of  torture 
and  of  shame  the  ladder  of  ascent  to  paradise ;  and,  far  above 
all  combinations  of  earthly  hopes,  calls  up  the  most  delight- 
ful visions  of  plains  and  amaranths,  the  gardens  of  the  blest, 
the  security  of  everlasting  joys,  where  the  sensualist  and  the 
fUeptic  view  only  gloom,  decay,  annihilation,  and  despair. 

SIR  HUMPHREY  DAVY. 

V. 

NATURE. 

SARAH  J.  HALE. 

There  's  not  a  plant  that  springeth, 
•  But  bears  some  good  to  earth  ; 

There  's  not  a  life  but  bringeth 

Its  store  of  harmless  mirth ; 
The  dusty  wayside  clover 

Has  honey  in  its  cells, —  • 

The  wild  bee,  humming  over, 

Her  tale  of  pleasure  tells ; 
The  osiers  o'er  the  fountain, 

Keep  cool  the  water's  breast, — 
And  on  the  roughest  mountain 

The  softest  moss  is  pressed. 
Thus  holy  Nature  teaches 

The  worth  of  blessings  small, 
That  Love  pervades  and  reaches, 

And  forms  the  Viss  of  all. 


488  SANDERS'     NEW     SERIES. 

▼I. 
RETROSPECTION. 

It  is  pleasing  to  review  the  day  that  is  past,  and  to  think 
that  its  duties  have  been  done  ;  to  think  that  the  purpose  with 
v/hich  we  rose  has  been  acconnplished  ;  that  in  the  busy  scene 
which  surrounds  us,  'vkb  have  done  our  part,  and  that  no  tempt- 
ation has  been  able  to  subdue  our  firmness  and  our  resolu- 
tion. Such  are  the  sentiments  with  which,  in  every  year  of 
life,  and  still  more  in  that  solemn  moment,  when  life  is  draw- 
ing to  its  close,  the  man  of  persevering  virtue  is  able  to  re- 
view the  time  that  is  past. 

VII. 

SELFISHNESS. 
What  e'er  the  passions,  knowledge,  fame,  or  pelf,         ^ 
No  one  will  change  his  neighbor  for  himself; 
The  learned  are  happy  nature  to  explore. 
The  fool  is  happy  that  he  knows  no  more. 

POPE. 

VIII. 
A  RESOLUTE   MIND.  * 

It  is  interesting  to  notice  how  some  minds  seem  almost  to 
create  themselves,  springing  up  under  every  disadvantage, 
and  working  their  solitary  but  irresistible  way  through  a 
thousand  obstacles.  Nature  seems  to  delight  in  disappoint- 
ing the  assiduities  of  art,  with  which  it  would  rear  dullness  to 
maturity ;  and  to  glory  in  the  vigor  and  luxuriance  of  her 
chance  productions.  She  scatters  the  seeds  of  genius  to  the 
winds,  and  though  some  may  perish  among  the  stony  places 
of  the  world,  and  some  may  be  choked  by  the  thorns  and 
brambles  of  early  adversity,  yet  others  will  now  and  then 
strike  root  even  in  the  clefts  of  the  rock,  struggle  bravely  up 
into  sunshine,  and  spread  over  their  sterile  birth-place  all  the 
beauties  of  vegetation. 

WASHINGTON  IRVINO. 


YOUNG    LADIES'     READER.  489 

IX. 

THE   DROP   OF   WATER. 
I 
*  Ho-w  mean,  'mid  all  this  glorious  gpaee,  how  valueless  am  1 1" 
A  little  drop  of  -water  said,  as,  trembling  in  the  sky, 
It  downward  fell,  in  haste  to  meet  th'  interminable  sea, 
As  if  the  watery  mass  its  goal  and  sepulcher  should  be. 

n. 
But,  ere  of  no  account,  within  the  watery  mass  it  fell — 
It  found  a  shelter  and  a  home,  the  oyster's  concave  shell ; 
And  there  that  little  drop  became  a  hard  and  precious  gem, 
Meet  ornament  for  royal  wreath)  for  Persia's  diadem. 

m. 
Cheer  up,  faint  heart,  that  hear'st  the  tale,  and  though  thy  lot  may  seem 
Contemptible,  yet  not  of  it  as  nothing  worth  esteem  ; 
Nor  fear  that  thou,  exempt  from  care  of  Providence,  shall  be 
An  undistinguishable  drop  in  nature's  boundless  sea. 

IV. 

The  Power  that  called  thee  into  life  has  skill  to  make  thee  live, 

A  place  of  refuge  can  provide,  another  being  give ; 

Can  clothe  thy  perishable  form  with  beauty  rich  and  rare. 

And,  **  when  He  makes  his  jewels  up,"  grant  thee  a  station  there. 

lUCHARD  MAKT. 

X. 

FEMALE  FORTITUDE. 
I  have  often  had  occasion  to  remark  the  fortitude  with 
which  women  sustain  the  most  overwhelming  reverses  of  for- 
tune. Those  disasters  which  break  down  the  spirit  of  a  man, 
And  prostrate  him  in  the  dust,  seem  to  call  forth  all  the  ener- 
gies of  the  softer  sex,  and  give  such  intrepidity  and  elevation 
to  their  character,  that  at  times  it  approaches  to  sublimity. 
Nothing  can  be  more  touching  than  to  behold  a  soft  and 
tender  female,  who  had  been  all  weakness  and  dependence,  and 
alive  to  every  trivial  roughness,  while  treading  the  prosperous 
paths  of  life,  suddenly  rising  in  mental  force  to  be  the  comforter 
and  supporter  of  her  husband  under  misfortune,  and  abiding, 
with  unshrinking  firmness,  the  bitterest  blasts  of  adversity. 

WASHINaTON   IRVING. 

21* 


490  SANDEES'     NEW     SERIES. 

EXERCISE    CLXX. 
con:necticut  m  early  times. 

BANCROFT. 

1.  Connecticut,  from  the  first,  possessed  unmixed  popu- 
lar liberty.  The  government  was  in  honest  and  upright 
hands  ;  the  little  strifes  of  rivalry  never  became  heated  ;  the 
magistrates  were  sometimes  persons  of  no  ordinary  endow- 
ments ;  but,  though  gifts  of  learning  and  genius  were  valued, 
the  State  was  content  with  virtue  and  single-mindedness  ;  and 
the  public  welfare  never  suffered  at  the  hands  of  plain  men. 
Roger  Williams  had  ever  been  a  welcome  guest  at  Hartford  ; 
and  "  that  heavenly  man,  John  Ilaynes,"  would  say  to  him  : 
"  I  think,  Mr.  Williams,  I  must  now  confess  to  you,  that  the 
most  wise  God  hath  provided  and  cut  out  this  part  of  the 
world  as  a  refuge  and  receptacle  for  all  sorts  of  consciences." 

2.  There  never  existed  a  persecuting  spirit  in  Connecticut ; 
while  "  it  had  a  scholar  to  their  minister  in  every  town  and 
village."  Education  was  cherished ;  religious  knowledge  was 
carried  to  the  highest  degree  of  refinement,  alike  in  its  appli- 
cation to  moral  duties,  and  to  the  mysterious  questions  on 
the  nature  of  God,  of  liberty,  and  of  the  soul.  A  hardy 
race  multiplied  along  the  alluvion  of  the  streams,  and  subdued 
the  more  rocky  and  less  inviting  fields  ;  its  population  for  a 
century  doubled  once  in  twenty  years,  in  spite  of  considerable 
emigration ;  and,  if,  as  has  often  been  said,  the  ratio  of  the 
increase  of  population  is  the  surest  criterion  of  public  happi- 
ness, Connecticut  was  long  the  happiest  State  in  the  world. 

3.  Religion  united  with  the  pursuits  of  agriculture,  to  give 
to  the  land  the  aspect  of  salubrity.  The  domestic  wars  were 
discussions  of  knotty  points  in  theology ;  the  concerns  of  the 
parish,  the  merits  of  the  minister,  were  the  weightiest  affairs; 
and  a  church  reproof  the  heaviest  calamity.  The  strifes  of 
the  parent  country,  though  they  sometimes  occasioned  a  levy 
among  the  sons  of  the  husbandmen,  yet  never  brought  an 
enemy  within  their  borders;  tranquillity  was  within  their 


YOUNG     LADIES'     READER.  491 

gates,  and  the  peace  of  God  within  their  hearts.  No  fears  of 
midnight  ruffians  could  disturb  the  sweetness  of  slumber ;  the 
best  house  required  no  fastening  but  a  latch,  lifted  by  a 
string ;  bolts  and  locks  were  unknown. 

4.  There  was  nothing  morose  in  the  Connecticut  character. 
It  was  temperate  industry  enjoying  the  abundance  which  it 
had  created.  No  great  inequalities  of  condition  excited  envy, 
or  raised  political  feuds ;  wealth  could  display  itself  only  in 
a  larger  house  and  a  fuller  barn  ;  and  covetousness  was  satis- 
fied by  the  tranquil  succession  of  harvests.  There  was  veni- 
son from  the  hills ;  salmon,  in  their  sej^gon,  not  less  than  shad, 
from  the  rivers  ;  and  sugar  from  the  trees  of  the  forest.  For 
a  foreign  market,  little  was  produced  beside  cattle ;  and,  in 
return  for  them,  but  few  foreign  luxuries  stole  in.  Even  as 
late  as  1713,  the  number  of  seamen  did  not  exceed  one  hun- 
dred and  twenty. 

5.  The  soil  had  originally  been  justly  divided,  or  held  as 
common  property  in  trust  for  the  public,  and  for  new  comers. 
Forestalling  was  successfully  resisted  ;  the  brood  of  specula- 
tors in  land  inexorably  turned  aside.  Happiness  was  enjoyed 
unconsciously ;  beneath  the  rugged  exterior,  humanity  wore 
its  sweetest  smile.  There  was,  for  a  long  time,  hardly  a  law- 
yer in  the  land.  The  husbandman  who  held  his  own  plow, 
and  fed  his  own  cattle,  was  the  great  man  of  the  age  ;  no  one 
was  superior  to  the  matron  who,  with  her  busy  daughters, 
kept  the  hum  of  the  wheel  incessantly  alive,  spinning  and 
weaving  every  article  of  their  dress. 

6.  Fashion  was  confined  within  narrow  limits  ;  and  piide, 
which  aimed  at  no  grander  equipage  than  a  pillion,  could  ex- 
ult only  in  the  common  splendor  of  the  blue  and  white  linen 
gown,  with  short  sleeves,  coming  down  to  the  waist,  and  in 
the  snow-white  flaxen  apron,  which,  primly  starched  and 
ironed,  was  worn  on  public  days  by  every  woman  in  the  land. 
For  there  was  no  revolution,  except  froni  the  time  of  sowing 
to  the  time  of  reaping  ;  from  the  plain  dress  of  the  week  day, 
to  the  more  trim  attire  of  Sunday. 


492  SANDERS'     NEW     SERIES. 

7.  Every  family  was  taught  to  look  upward  to  God,  as  to 
the  Fountain  of  all  good.  Yet  life  was  not  somber.  The 
spirit  of  frolic  mingled  with  innocence  ;  religion  itself  some- 
times wore  the  garb  of  gayety  ;  and  the  annual  thanksgiving 
to  God  was,  from  primitive  times,  as  joyous  as  it  was  sincere. 
Nature  always  asserts  her  rights,  and  abounds  in  means  of 
gladness. 

8.  The  frugality  of  private  life  had  its  influence  on  public 
expenditure.  Haifa  century  after  the  concession  of  the  char- 
ter, the  annual  expenses  of  the  government  did  not  exceed 
eight  hundred  pound^  or  four  thousand  dollars ;  and  the 
wages  of  the  Chief  Justice  were  ten  shillings  a  day  while  on' 
service.  In  each  county,  a  magistrate  acted  as  judge  of  pro- 
bate, and  the  business  was  transacted  with  small  expense  to 
the  fatherless. 

9.  Education  was  always  esteemed  a  concern  of  deepest 
interest,  and  there  were  common  schools  from  the  first.  Nor 
was  it  long  before  a  small  college,  such  as  the  day  of  small 
things  permitted,  began  to  be  established  ;  and  Yale  owes  its 
birth  "  to  ten  worthy  fathers,  who,  in  1700,  assembled  at 
Branford,  and  each  one,  laying  a  few  volumes  on  a  table,  said, — 
*  I  give  these  books  for  the  founding  of  a  college  in  this 
colony.' " 

10.  But  the  political  education  of  the  people  is  due  to  the 
happy  organization  of  towns,  which  here,  as,  indeed,  through 
out  all  New  England,  constituted  each  separate  settlement  a 
little  democracy  of  itself.  It  w^as  the  natural  reproduction 
of  the  system,  which  the  instinct  of  humanity  had  imperfectly 
revealed  to  our  Anglo-Saxon  ancestors.  In  the  ancient  re- 
publics, citizenship  had  been  an  hereditary  privilege.  In 
Connecticut,  citizenship  was  acquired  by  inhabitancy,  was  lost 
by  removal. 

11.  Each  town-meeting  was  a  little  legislature,  and  all  in- 
habitants, the  affluent  and  the  more  needy,  the  wise  and  the 
foolish,  were  members  with  equal  franchises.  There  the  taxes 
of  the  town  were  discussed  and  levied  ;  there  the  yillage  offi 


YOUNG    LADIES'    k:5Adeii.  498 

cers  were  cliosen;  there  roads  were  laid  out,  and  bridges 
voted  ;  there  the  minister  was  elected,  the  representatives  to 
the  assembly  were  instructed.  The  debate  was  open  to  all ; 
wisdom  asked  no  favors ;  the  churl  abated  nothing  of  his  pre- 
tensions. 

12.  Whoever  reads  the  records  of  these  village  democra- 
cies, will  be  perpetually  coming  upon  some  little  document 
of  political  wisdom,  which  breathes  the  freshness  of  rural  leg- 
islation, and  wins  a  disproportioned  interest  from  the  justice 
and  simplicity  of  the  times.  As  the  progress  of  society  re- 
quired exertions  in  a  wider  field,  the  public  mind  was  quick- 
ened by  associations  that  were  blended  with  early  history ; 
and  when  Cofinecticut  emerged  from  the  quiet  of  its  origin, 
aud  made  its  way  into  scenes  where  a  new  political  world 
was  to  be  created,  the  sagacity  that  had  regulated  the  aifairs  of 
the  village,  gained  admiration  in  the  field  and  in  the  council. 


EXERCISE    CLXXI. 
THE   TOMB  OF  YEARS. 

CHARLES   CONSTANTINE  PISK. 

1.  Upon  the  tomb  of  years  the  monarch  bent, 

To  read  the  epitaph  of  human  things  ; 
'T  was  written  on  the  time-worn  monument, 

"  Scepters  and  crowns  lie  moldering  here  with  kings." 

2.  Next,  crowned  with  laurel-wreaths  the  hero  came, 

And  paused  in  silence  o'er  the  mighty  grave ; 
He  read  :  "  Time  spares  not  glory,  spares  not  fame. — 
Beneath  this  sod  their  plumes  no  longer  wave  !" 

3.  The  lord  of  countless  treasures  then  drew  nigh, 

And  trembled  as  he  stooped  to  scan  the  doom 
Of  the  rich  man, — and  heaved  a  hollow  sigh ; 

He  read :  "  Wealth  can  not  bribe  the  impartial  tomb." 


494  SAND.ERS'    NEW    SERIES. 

4.  The  beauteous  girl  in  all  her  youth  and  charms, 

Fixed  her  dark  eye  upon  the  grave  of  years  ; 
And  when  't  was  written :  "  In  Death's  icy  arms 
Beauty  lies  clasped !"  she  turned  away  in  tears. 

5.  The  skeptic  sternly  gazed, — but  on  his  brow 

A  frown  of  horror  gathered  while  he  read ; 
For  he  hath  naught  to  cheer  his  spirit  now, 
And  not  a  ray  will  light  his  grave  when  dead  ! 

6.  The  Christian  knelt, — and  reading,  that  beneath 

The  tomb  of  years,  crowns,  plumes,  and  treasures  lie, 
And  beauty  fades  away, — looked  upon  death 
As  the  mere  prelude  to  eternity. 

7.  Yes,  o'er  Time's  sepulcher, — amid  the  gloom 

That  gathers  round  the  place  where  ages  sleep. 
Faith,  heavenly  Faith,  will  mitigate  our  doom, 
And  Hope  her  vigils  o'er  our  ashes  keep  ! 


EXERCISE    CLXXII 
EVENING   IN   PARADISE. 


imTON 

I.  *   Now  came  still  evening  on,  and  twilight  gray 
Had  in  her  sober  livery  all  things  61ad  : 
Silence  accompanied ;  for  beast  and  bird. 
They  to  their  grassy  couch,  these  to  their  nests. 
Were  slunk  ;  all  but  the  wakeful  nightingale ; 
She  all  night  long  her  amorous  descant  sung ; 
Silence  was  pleased  :  now  glowed  the  firmament 
With  living  sapphires ;  Hesperus,  that  led 
The  starry  host,  rode  brightest,  till  the  moon 
Rising  in  clouded  majesty,  at  length. 
Apparent  queen,  unvailed  her  peerless  light, 
And  o'er  the  dark  her  silver  mantle  threw. 


YOUNG     LADIES'    EEADEE.  495 

2.  When  Adam  thus  to  Eve  :  "  Fair  consort,  the  hour 
Of  night,  and  all  things  now  retired  to  rest, 

Mind  us  of  like  repose  ;  since  God  hath  set 
Labor  and  rest,  as  day  and  night,  to  men 
Successive ;  and  the  timely  dew  of  sleep, 
Now  falling  with  soft  slumb'rous  weight,  inclines 
Our  eyelids ;  other  creatures  all  day  long 
Rove  idle,  unemployed,  and  less  need  rest ; 
Man  hath  his  daily  work  of  body  or  mind 
Appointed,  which  declares  his  dignity. 
And  the  regard  of  Heaven  on  all  his  ways : 
While  other  animals  unactive  range. 
And  of  their  doings  God  takes  no  account. 

3.  "  To-morrow,  ere  fresh  morning  streak  the  east 
With  first  approach  of  light,  we  must  be  risen, 
And  at  our  pleasant  labor,  to  reform 

Yon  flowery  arbors,  yonder  alleys  green. 
Our  walk  at  noon,  with  branches  overgrown. 
That  mock  our  scant  manuring,  and  require 
More  hands  than  ours  to  lop  their  wanton  growth  ; 
Those  blossoms,  also,  and  those  dropping  gums 
That  lie  bestrown,  unsightly  and  unsmooth. 
Ask  riddance,  if  we  mean  to  tread  with  ease ; 
Meanwhile,  as  Nature  wills,  night  bids  us  rest." 

4.  To  whom  thus  Eve,  with  perfect  beauty  adorned : 
"  My  author  and  disposer,  what  thou  bidd'st 
Unargued  I  obey  ;  so  God  ordains. 

God  is  thy  law,  thou  mine ;  to  know  no  more, 
Is  woman's  happiest  knowledge,  and  her  praise. 
With  thee  conversing,  I  forget  all  time ; 
All  seasons,  and  their  change,  all  please  alike. 
Sweet  is  the  breath  of  Morn,  her  rising  sweet, 
With  charm  of  earliest  birds  ;  pleasant  the  sun, 
When  first  on  this  delightful  land  he  spreads 


i 


496  SANDERS'  NEW    SERIES. 

His  orient  beams,  on  herb,  tree,  fruit,  and  flower, 
Glistering  with  dew  ;  fragrant  the  fertile  earth 
After  soft  showers  ;  and  sweet  the  coming  on 
Of  grateful  evening  mild  ;  then  silent  night, 
With  this  her  solemn  bird  and  this  fair  moon, 
And  these  the  gems  of  heaven,  her  starry  train : 
But  neither  breath  of  Morn,  when  she  ascends 
With  charm  of  earliest  birds  ;  nor  rising  sun 
On  this  delightful  land ;  nor  herb,  fruit,  flower, 
Glistering  with  dew  ;  nor  fragrance  after  showA>rs  ; 
Nor  grateful  evening  mild ;  nor  silent  night. 
With  this  her  solemn  bird  ;  nor  walk  by  moon, 
Or  glittering  starlight,  without  thee  is  sweet. 
But  wherefore  all  night  long  shine  these  1     For  wiiom 
"Kiis  glorious  sight,  when  sleep  hath  shut  all  eyes  V 

b.      To  whom  our  general  ancestor  replied  : 

"  Daughter  of  God  and  man,  accomplished  Eve, 
These  have  their  course  to  finish  round  the  earth 
By  morrow  evening ;  and  from  land  to  land 
In  order,  though  to  nations  yet  unborn, 
Ministering  light  prepared,  they  set  and  rise ; 
Lest  total  darkness  should  by  night  regain 
Her  old  possession,  and  extinguish  life 
In  nature  and  all  things ;  which  these  soft  fires 
Not  only  enlighten,  but  with  kindly  heat 
Of  various  influence,  foment  and  warm. 
Temper  or  nourish,  or  in  part  shed  down 
Their  stellar  virtue  on  all  kinds  that  grow 
On  earth,  made  hereby  apter  to  receive 
Perfection  from  the  sun's  more  potent  ray. 

6. "  These,  then,  though  unbeheld  in  deep  of  night, 

Shine  not  in  vain.  Nor  think,  though  men  were  none, 
That  heaven  would  want  spectators,  God  want  praise : 
Millions  of  spiritual  creatures  walk  the  earth 


YOUNG     LADIES'    KEADEK.  497 


Unseen,  both  when  we  wake  and  when  we  sleep : 
All  these  with  ceaseless  praise  his  works  behold 
Both  day  and  night.     How  often,  from  the  steep 
Of  echoing  hill  or  thicket,  have  we  heard 
Celestial  voices  to  the  midnight  air. 
Sole,  or  responsive  each  to  other's  note. 
Singing  their  great  Creator  !  oft  in  bands 
While  they  keep  watch,  or  nightly  rounding  walk, 
With  heavenly  touch  of  instrumental  sounds, 
In  full  harmonic  number  joined,  their  songs 
Divide  the  night,  and  lift  our  thoughts  to  Heaven." 

7.  Thus  talking,  hand  in  hand,  alone  they  passed 
On  to  their  blissful  bower ;  it  was  a  place 
Chosen  by  the  sovereign  Planter,  when  he  framed 
All  things  to  man's  delightful  use :  the  roof 

Of  thickest  covert  was  inwoven  shade, 

Laurel  and  myrtle,  and  what  higher  grew 

Of  firm  and  fragrant  leaf;  on  either  side 

Acanthus,  and  each  odorous  bushy  shrub, 

Fenced  up  the  verdant  wall ;  each  beauteous  flower, 

Iris  all  hues,  roses,  and  jessamin. 

Reared  high  their  flourished  heads  between,  and  "vrvught 

Mosaic ;  under-foot,  the  violet. 

Crocus  and  hyacinth,  with  rich  inlay 

Broidered  the  ground,  more  colored  than  with  stoD© 

Of  costliest  emblem  ;  other  creature  here. 

Beast,  bird,  insect  or  worm,  durst  enter  none, 

Such  was  their  awe  of  man. 

8.  Thus,  at  their  shady  lodge  arrived,  both  stood, 
Both  turned,  and  under  open  sky  adored 

The  God  that  made  both  sky,  air,  earth  and  heaven, 
Which  they  beheld,  the  moon's  resplendent  globe, 
And  starry  pole  :  "  Thou,  also,  madest  the  night, 
Maker  Omnipotent !  and  thou  the  day 


498  SANDEES'    NEW    SEKIES. 

Which  we,  in  our  appointed  work  employed, 
Have  finished,  happy  in  our  mutual  help 
And  mutual  love,  the  crown  of  all  our  bliss 
Ordained  by  thee  ;  and  this  delicious  place. 
For  us  too  large,  where  thy  abundance  wants 
Partakers,  and  uncropped  falls  to  the  ground. 
But  thou  hast  promised  from  us  two  a  race 
To  fill  the  earth,  who  shall  with  us  extol 
Thy  goodness  infinite,  both  when  we  wake, 
And  when  we  seek,  as  now,  thy  gift  of  sleep/' 


EXERCISE   CLXXIII. 
POWER  AND   PROVIDENCE   OF   GOD. 

BIBLE, — 104th  psalm. 

1.  Bless  the  Lord,  0  my  eoul ! 

O  Lord,  my  God  !  thou  art  very  great ; 

Thou  art  clothed  with  honor  and  majesty. 

Who  coverest  thyself  with  light  as  with  a  garment : 

Who  stretchest  out  the  heavens  like  a  curtain  : 

Who  layeth  the  beams  of  his  chambers  in  the  waters  : 

Who  maketh  the  clouds  his  chariot : 

Who  walketh  upon  .the  wings  of  the  wind  : 

Who  maketh  his  angels  spirits  ; 

His  ministers  a  flaming  fire. 

2.  Who  laid  the  foundations  of  the  earth. 
That  it  should  not  be  removed  forever. 

Thou  coveredst  it  with  the  deep  as  with  a  garment : 

The  waters  stood  above  the  mountains. 

At  thy  rebuke,  they  fled ; 

At  the  voice  of  thy  thunder,  they  hasted  away. 

They  go  up  by  the  mountains ;  they  go  down  by  the  valleys, 

Unto  the  place  which  thou  hast  founded  for  them. 

Thou  hast  set  a  bound  that  they  may  not  pass  over, 

That  they  turn  not  again  to  cover  the  earth. 


YOUNG    LADIES'   READEE.  499 

3.  He  sendeth  the  springs  into  the  valleys, 
Which  run  among  the  hills. 

They  give  drink  to  every  beast  of  the  field  : 

The  wild  asses  quench  their  thirst. 

By  them  shall  the  fowls  of  the  heaven  have  their  habitation, 

Which  sing  among  the  branches. 

He  watereth  the  hills  from  his  chambers  : 

The  earth  is  satisfied  with  the  fruit  of  thy  works. 

4.  He  causeth  the  grass  to  grow  for  the  cattle, 
And  herb  for  the  service  of  man  : 

That  he  may  bring  forth  food  out  of  the  earth  ; 
And  wine  that  maketh  glad  the  heart  of  man, 
And  oil  to  make  his  face  to  shine, 
And  bread  which  strengtheneth  man's  heart. 

5.  The  trees  of  the  Lord  are  full  of  sap  ; 

The  cedars  of  Lebanon,  which  he  hath  planted  , 
Where  the  birds  make  their  nests  ; 
As  for  the  stork,  the  fir-trees  are  her  house. 
The  high  hills  are  a  refuge  for  the  wild  goats, 
And  the  rocks  for  the  conies. 

6.  He  appointeth  the  moon  for  seasons  j 
The  sun  knoweth  his  going  down. 
Thou  makest  darkness,  and  it  is  night, 

Wherein  all  the  beasts  of  the  forest  do  creep  forth. 

The  young  lion^  roar  after  their  prey, 

And  seek  their  meat  fi'om  God. 

The  sun  ariseth,  they  gather  themselves  together, 

And  lay  them  down  in  their  dens. 

Man  goeth  forth  unto  his  work. 

And  to  his  labor  until  the  evening. 

7. 0  Lord  !  how  manifold  are  thy  works ! 
In  wisdom  hast  thou  made  them  all : 


600  SANDERS'  NEW    SERIES. 


The  earth  is  full  of  thy  riches. 

So  is  this  great  and  wide  sea, 

Wherein  are  things  creeping  innumerable, 

Both  small  and  great  beasts. 

There  go  the  ships  : 

There  is  that  leviathan,  whom  thou  hast  made  to  play  therein. 

These  wait  all  upon  thee, 

That  thou  mayest  give  them  their  meat  in  due  season. 

That  thou  givest  them,  they  gather  : 

Thou  openest  thy  hand — they  are  filled  with  good  : 

Thou  hidest  thy  face — they  are  troubled  :  [dust. 

Thou  takest  away  their  breath — they  die,  and  return  to  their 

Thou  sendest  forth  thy  Spirit — they  are  created  : 

And  thou  renewest  the  face  of  the  earth. 

8.  The  glory  of  the  Lord  shall  endure  forever  : 
The  Lord  shall  rejoice  in  his  works. 
He  looketh  on  the  earth — and  it  trembleth  : 
He  toucheth  the  hills — and  they  smoke. 
I  will  sing  unto  the  Lord  as  long  as  I  live  : 
I  will  sing  praise  to  my  God  while  I  have  my  being. 
My  meditation  of  him  shall  be  sweet : 
I  will  be  glad  in  the  Lord. 
Let  the  sinners  be  consumed  out  of  the  earth, 
And  let  the  wicked  be  no  more. 

thou  the  Lord,  O  my  soul !  Praise  ye  the  Lord ! 


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*  now  published.  We  have  only  room  for  brief  extracts,  as  specimens 
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*  of  the  old  Series,  with  the  advantages  arising  from  the  long  expe- 
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schools,  now  published,  has  selected,  as  a  uniform  series  for  that  State, 
Sanders'  New  Series,  entire,    WilUorbS  Histories,  McElligotfs   Ortho- 
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I  deed,  specimens  of  almost  every  good  style,  and  are  celebrated  for  the 
I  high  moral  tone  which  pervades  the  lessons.     But  they  do  more. 
I  They  present  the  learner  with  the  means  and  incitements  to  a  careful 
and  correct  study  and  appreciation  of  what  he  reads.     To  this  end,  he 
finds  the  more  difficult  words  in  each  lesson  selected  and  arranged  be- 
forehand, as  an  exercise  in  spelling,"  etc.  etc. 

Hon.  Thos.  H.  Benton,  Jr.,  State  Superintendent  of  Schools,  Iowa, 
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In  the  city  of  New  York — the  London  of  America — where  several 
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and  where  the  most  vigorous  competition  has  elicited  the  severest  and 
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tone  of  the  lessons.  The  pictorial  illustrations  are  of  a  very  useful  char-  \ 
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